


Forever is a Long Story

by welshcanadian16



Category: Forever (TV)
Genre: Crime Scenes, F/M, Immortality, Murder Mystery, Police, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-04-30 01:02:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 40,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5144585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welshcanadian16/pseuds/welshcanadian16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The escalating relationship between Henry and Jo is starting to take place. Then everything is thrown into turmoil when Jo get's shot with Henry's cursed gun. Is this the means to a new beginning? Or a new death? Then a murder pops up and the infamous duo learn a few important lessons. (Takes place right after Henry says "It's a Long Story" in the series finale.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

** Forever is a Long Story **

Chapter 1

Truthful Answers

"Henry, I also found this." Jo held up a black and white photo of Henry and his family, clear to see that it had not originated from this century. She had a stern voice, clearly not tending to leave Henry's front doorstep anytime soon. She wanted answers and her partner was the only one who had them. He had been lying to her a few times, and had tried to mislead the investigation of the two murders and the stolen cursed dagger. Something was up and nothing was going to stop her from obtaining whatever she needed to know.

Henry Morgan felt his heart tighten, she found a key piece of information that would indeed reveal his unholy cursed secret; his immortality. Although Adam was (for now) out of his life, another bump in his infinite one emerged. He had two choices, two paths to take. The doctor of death needed to choose wisely, but his decisions were fogged by a sense of insecurity and nervousness. If he told Jo his whole life story, would she walk away? Throw him into an asylum? Take away his job? All negative thoughts entered his brain, not thinking of the good that could come from him telling her.

Abe nudged his shoulder with an understanding tone. "Henry, tell her." Listening to his son, he gave in, ready to reveal his true hidden self. Breathing in a gasp of air, he then exhaled fully. He looked at Abe, then back at the awaiting woman in front of him. "It's a long story..." He stepped back, letting her in the antique's shop.

"Why don't the three of us sit down? And, I'll put the kettle on." Abe said, pushing Henry and Jo on the couch next to each other. In the eyes of every British person (or son of) tea was the best solution to every problem. Family death; they serve tea. Failing grades; they serve tea. Heartbreaking breakup; they serve tea. It was like a tradition.

As the kettle boiled on the stove, the couple on the couch sat in silence awaiting Abe to come back. Jo just sat there and stared at the picture, thousands of ideas of infinite possibilities swarmed in her head. She could not fathom what Henry was about to tell her. He being immortal was positively not on the top of her list. More in the middle. She did not know what to think, so she was waiting for Henry to tell her the truth.

Henry, on the other hand, kept staring at her and the photo. He gulped, trying to rearrange his life, thinking of the best way to tell her of his curse, and her believing him. He did not want to lose her, the feelings he had for her had been growing slowly for the past few months, not stopping at the least. Now that he had come to terms with Abigail's death and let go, he felt like a new stage of his life had just commenced. Hopefully one without remorse or regrets.

Coming back with three tea cups filled to the brim with a sweet aroma of orange fruit tea, Abe entered the salon, sitting in the recliner in front of the partners, crossing his legs and leaning forward, knowing it was Henry's job to do the talking and the explaining.

All eyes were on Henry, more importantly Martinez's. Her eyes flooded with intrigue and puzzlement. "Well, Henry? I think it's time for the truth to reveal itself." She said, rather in an unintended whisper, like she was afraid of what she might hear. Not sure of herself for the first time in her life.

"Go on Dad tell her." Abe pushed, making Jo flinch when she heard Abe call Henry  _dad_.

"Whoa...hold on a second...dad?" She asked with a tone louder than expected from her.

"Yes...well...Jo meet my son Abraham. I adopted him after the Second World War." The medical examiner explained, with a rather proud voice.

The detective's eyes widened, pupils dilated. "Your son? He's your...s-son?" Her voice rather shaky. Trying to figure out what he was saying. "But that would mean..."

"Yes I was alive in the 1940s, and yes the photo is real." Before he could go on, Jo put her finger on his lips, telling him to be quiet for a few moments. She started to breathe heavily, running her hand through her hair.

"So let's get this straight. You have a son almost twice your age, you were alive during World War II and there is the photo to prove it." She ran it over and over again. Nothing made sense, but at the same time made perfect sense. She removed her finger, showing him to go on.

"Yes that's right...now I am going to tell you something crazy, unbelievable, but please believe me. I was actually born on September 17th, 1779 and I cannot die. Every time I do, I resurface in the closest body of water. I am not and never will be a grave digger and for years I have studied death to end my tragic curse. I lie to save myself from being turned into a human experiment and being deemed psychotic. Truthfully, I never wanted to lie to you, but could never let myself tell you because I had not forgiven myself yet for my dead wife's death. I thought I didn't need anybody else to care of me aside from Abraham for the rest of my life, but I was wrong because I met you and everything changed." He said, revealing all he had been keeping bottled up for ages. He sighed, relieved that his feelings came out. Now he was waiting for Jo's reaction, the one that had haunted him throughout his dreams. The nightmare that showed him of her rejection.

"Fine." She simply stated crossing her arms and sitting back.

"Fine? That's all you say? I have just told you that I am an immortal and you agree and say fine!" He exclaimed, not seeing that coming. His released the anger originating from his frustration.

"What else am I going to say? I am a detective. I look at the facts and everything fits. The photo, your close relationship with Abe, your suicidal tendencies, your skinny dipping in the lake, your vast knowledge on the past, and the fact that I have enormous astonishing faith in you." She remarked, putting her hand on his shoulder affectionately. "I believe you, so accept that. I am not going anywhere. So, please, no more secrets ok?"

Henry felt a weight lift off his shoulders, like it had been there for quite some time. It still baffled him how the woman sitting next to him could be so serene, he just looked at it as a miracle. "I agree, no more lying. I promise." Getting himself back to his relaxed self, he knew thousands of question were coming. It pleased him, being able to share everything he experienced with someone other than Abe. Most parents never want to share everything with their sons.

"I suppose you have many questions that need answers Jo. Go ahead, ask me anything." He simply stated, compassion mixing together with his British accent.

Jo shook her head, declining politely his offer. She pressed her thumbs to her temples, appearing to have lost her relaxed composure from a few seconds previous. "Not now Henry, I-I just need some time to think. I do have many questions, but I don't feel like asking anything right now. Don't be wrong, I am quite angry at you for lying to me all this time, but I don't want to talk now because this is a lot to take in." She sighed out of exhaustion, her brain was working overtime, trying to wrap everything around it.

The detective took a sip of her tea slowly, in deep thought. Henry remained quiet, with a hand resting on her knee, letting her have all the time in the world, something he always had on his side. Alas, however, she did not. He rubbed his prickly chin, taking his hand off his partner's knee, wallowing in the same dazed state as the woman beside him.

"I will leave you two alone." Abe quickly got up, bringing the empty china teacups with him to the kitchen. When everything got quiet, he knew it was time for him to leave. His father and detective Martinez needed to talk a few more things through, alone. Without any bystanders.

"I can leave too, give you a moment alone like you asked." Henry started to push himself off the couch, uncrossing his legs, but go pushed back down by Jo pulling on his sleeve.

"No, stay." She took a deep breath and straitened her hair. "I'm fine now." She replied, the sides of her mouth slightly inclining upwards. Henry Morgan always appreciated her smile, even the ones slightly noticeable. "So, what do we do now? Just continue on with our jobs, pretending like nothing happened?" She asked, with a worrying glare.

"We will continue to work together Jo, but not pretending like nothing happened. You know my secret and I don't want things to go as they were before."

"You're right Henry." She got up from the couch. "I don't either. Secrets and lies are never healthy. It's getting late, I haven't slept in over twenty four hours, and I have to work in the morning. We'll talk tomorrow."

"Understandable, let me show you out." He put his hand on Jo's back, leading her out into the night.

"Good night Henry. I'm glad you told me." She looked up into his eyes, placing a kiss on his cheek, and walked towards her car (which she had parked down the street) waving.

"Goodnight Jo." He waved back, feeling like a piece of his soul had just came back. He needn't and didn't care of what was to come because all he could do right then was smile. He closed the shop's door, locking up, and went into the kitchen where Abe was reading the New York Times, glasses pulled foreword to the tip of his nose.

"So what happened when I left?" Abe asked straight away, not looking up from his leisurely reading.

"Come on Abraham, you were listening. A father knows when their son is listening in on their conversations." He laughed cheerfully.

"Even  _if_  I did eavesdrop, it sounds by your energetic attitude that Jo took it quite well. You have lipstick on your cheek by the way." He replied chuckling whilst Henry wiped away the evidence.

"It was just a friendly goodnight kiss, putting everything we have just been through, I think it was appropriate." He fixed his scarf around his neck, always doing that when he felt nervous or embarrassed. Sometimes even proud. This time he was experiencing all at the same time.

"Friendly, ha! Keep telling yourself that dad." He teased.

"Well, have a nice night Abe, I'm turning in for the night." Henry said, heading for his room.

"Sweet dreams" Abe grinned, looking up from the newspaper for a second. Henry only smiled, closing the bedroom door behind him.

As he lay in his bed, under the comfortable bed sheets, wearing his favorite silk blue striped pyjamas, his eyes didn't want to shut. It wasn't everyday he told one of his closest friends his long kept secret. He began to think about the future, worrying that one day he would have to let go of Abe, and eventually Jo. Then his world would crumble before him, no one else to call family.

He smacked his face hard with both palms, he was not letting anymore depressing images to enter his mind. Right now, he was happy, and that was all that mattered. He hoped Jo was having less trouble sleeping than him.

Sleeping didn't want to welcome her. She still couldn't comprehend how being immortal could even be real. It surmounted the level of normal and stretched into the supernatural alongside fate and destiny.

She knew her opinion on things would change drastically now. Especially her assessment on Henry's extravagant personality. It had always seemed odd when he started explaining numerous facts and observations that could only surmount to a person who had been living long enough to gain all that vast knowledge and experience. It was then she wanted to ask all her questions; when Henry wasn't there. She closed her eyes, making herself comfortable, knowing she would see him in the morning at work. There would surely be another murder by then.


	2. Aftermath and Disappearance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The escalating relationship between Henry and Jo is starting to take place. Then everything is thrown into turmoil when Jo get's shot with Henry's cursed gun. Is this the means to a new beginning? Or a new death? Then a murder pops up and the infamous duo learn a few important lessons. (Takes place right after Henry says "It's a Long Story" in the series finale.)

_**Lois McMaster Bujold:** The dead cannot cry out for justice. It is a duty of the living to do so for them._

Jo sat at her desk, tapping her pencil rapidly on the edge of it. She hadn't drank her mandatory cup of coffee in the morning yet, for she was in a rush to work. Jo didn't get much shut eye, and she had slept in accidently (only by an hour). Tardiness had never been a large part of her life, but today was an exception. She kept looking at her phone, waiting for a call; in other words a homicide. It was quite selfish, wanting a murder to happen only to be able to work on an investigation with Henry, but she wanted to know how her perspectives would change now knowing his secret, and enjoy watching him lighten up every time a new idea came into his head.

She looked down at her desk, revealing a stack of reports needed to be completed two days ago. Which meant that she did not have time for anything else...unless an investigation came along, then it would lead to pushing her stacks of paperwork aside. Grunting out of grumpiness, she stood up and headed to the rec-room, pouring herself a cup of coffee before eventually starting her work, which meant she was procrastinating.

She made a fresh roast and poured it into any mug she could find. Smelling the sweet aroma of caffeine, she sipped it slowly, savoring the bitterness of java tingling her taste buds favorably. Now feeling the caffeine rushing into her system, she felt much more awake and less cranky. Setting her mug on her work desk, she started the tedious task in front of her, cupping her left hand under her chin.

"Morning Detective Martinez." A voice called out. She knew who it was, and cranked her neck ever so slightly in the person's direction, showing a small polite smile.

"Morning Hanson."

"Heard you were late today. I wonder what the Lieutenant would say." Hanson joked friendlily.

"I don't think one measly day of tardiness would put me on the Lieutenant's look out. You are the one who should be careful, I notice you taking one too many coffee breaks." She replied, with the same sense of humour.

"Well, you look chipper this morning." He remarked, raising his eyebrow.

Jo just lifted her cup of coffee, pointing at it, smirking. "The reason is this and let's just say something came out in the open yesterday that had been deeply hidden for way too long."

Mike Hanson apparently and fortunately did not have the slightest inkling of what she was talking about, because he just shrugged and bid her a nice day, running off to continue one of his solo cases; a local hit and run thievery. These type of cases usually became cold sooner than later; not enough evidence. Hanson hoped this one would be different.

With no one else around, Jo went back to using her sharpened pencil.

She had focused on her task at hand for a few hours when the phone rang at 12:57. She picked it up with rapidity, like she had been doing for years. Being in this field of work, it was imperative to pick up the phone in a fast pace. Never knowing what might happen next. Best be on guard, just in case.

"NYPD, eleventh precinct, what seems to be the problem?" She asked in a standard monotone police voice.

"Jo, its Henry." The Englishman said on the other end rather hastily, with a hint of breathlessness. To Jo, she would have guessed he ran to the nearest phone, since he was never a fan of cellular devices. Only ones with cords, and most of the time the receiver was off the hook.

"What's wrong?" Jo asked, recognising Henry's worrisome tone.

"I...I mean we have a problem."

...

Once in a while, sleeping in was a good thing, but not if it was because you hadn't slept until three A.M. This dilemma was Henry's to have, and he defiantly didn't want to welcome it. Even though his time was never limited, sometimes he wanted it to go faster, like that night. Tossing and turning did not count as a good night's sleep. When dawn came to rise, Henry was still snoring in bed, not hearing the lively Jazz music deriving from the kitchen, where his son was eating breakfast. Henry would have had a larger probability of waking up on time if he deemed an alarm clock fitted with a snooze button necessary. He always told Abe that in the old days, people still got to work on time...without any help from alarm clocks. Another thing he disliked in the electronics department was the microwave, never planning on buying one (even with his perpetual lifespan). Preferring antiques occasionally had its disadvantages. For example: today.

The medical examiner got shaken into wakefulness by a trumpet sounding right next to his eardrums, making them ring like crazy. Cupping his hands around his ears, he shot upright, jumpy from the sudden sound. Opening his eyes wide, he looked around for the perpetrator that barged into his room. On the left hand side of his kind sized bed was Abraham, lips still glued to the brass instrument's mouth piece and fingers wavering over the three buttons. From the noise he made from it, it was clear to see that he did not know how to play.

"Abraham! What are you doing?" Henry asked, appalled. His son had never done this before.

"It's not every day I find my pops snoring at eleven in the morning. So, I took it upon myself to wake you up." Abe grinned, putting the trumpet down on the bed. "Bought this rare vintage Julius Keilwerth Tone King De Luxe 1965 trumpet with black nickel plating last week from a collector, and needed to see if it still worked. I guess it does."

"What an exquisite find—wait did you say eleven? Why didn't you wake me up sooner? I have to get to work!" Henry exclaimed, rushing out of bed, handing Abe his trumpet, and pushing him out of the room to get dressed.

Withdrawing from his bedroom, five minutes later, he had freshened up, gotten rid of his bedhead and donned his stylish signature fashion sense. Not forgetting to put a scarf around his neck. Grabbing the (strong) coffee Abe put out for him, the Londoner fled the premises, scurrying off to New York City Medical Examiner's Office. Checking his watch every minute.

...

Lucas Whal, Henry's uncanny assistant, had entered work uncommonly early. He concluded that the early bird gets the worm; which meant being able to astonish Doctor Morgan by showing him a full analysis and identity of a Jane Doe found two days ago who seemed think she was volitant, and who was yet to be identified. Unbeknownst to Lucas, his ' _Doc'_ had already given a name to the Jane Doe; Miriam Malachite. Lucas had figured it out when he went to collect the body from the freezer and it wasn't there. The corpse had already been sent to the funeral home, ready to be cremated.

The young man didn't see the point of returning to his ' _pad',_ so he sat back comfortably, waiting for a stiff to come through the doors. Whilst he waited, he was biding his time reading his large collection of gory comic books...or gory graphic novels (the name he liked to use). It implied that he felt insecure and childish when someone pointed out that his hobby was reading comic books, and he felt his age when he saw them as graphic novels.

Lucas was shocked not to see his boss prance through the doors at 9:00 A.M sharp. Instead it was one of the staff, bringing in an obvious suicide body. A three millimetre bullet wound on left side of the man's head, along with gun residue trailing along his left hand and a hand written note glued to his chest was proof enough. After testing, the handwriting would match the victim, and the bullet would match the gun found next to the body.

It was at 11:15 when Henry came rushing in, heading directly to his office, greeting Lucas on the way. He place his scarf and coat on the coat rack in his office, and put on his white lab coat.

"Sorry, I'm late. Who is this?" Henry asked his assistant, pointing at the body upon the stainless steel table.

"Martin Evans, age fifty-seven. Cause of death: bullet wound on left side of his head. My opinion is a suicide. The police report says that Mr. Martin was found in his apartment approximately three days after his death, his neighbour reported a strange odour emanating next door. People who knew him said that he had just lost his job, divorced his wife and got scammed out of his retirement money. His cat also died. Poor cat, that's what probably threw him over the edge. You know I had a cat once, it used to eat my—"

"I got it, thank you." Henry cut him off before the conversation darted in a different direction. "I will take it from here, and you're right. It is a suicide." Henry mumbled, examining the body with efficiency.

"I am? Yes I am." The assistant stated with proudness, always liking his boss' compliments since he looked up to him very much. Leaving, he went off to do some work that needed to be done.

After Henry had ruled Martin Evans as a suicide, two other corpses had arrived, needed to be attended to, giving Henry a lot of work to complete.

"Doc, you have a phone call. Someone from the hospital. Says it's important." Lucas called, handing the receiver to Henry.

"Hello, this is Doctor Morgan."

"Hello, I am the nurse who takes care of the friend you admitted here. I have some bad news. It seems he has disappeared, the only explanation is that the amount of air that he had been ejected with wore off. It is rather a medical mystery since this drug takes years or even a life time to wear off." The nurse explained with worry in her voice. "I was told that you were the person I should call if anything happened." She said with insecurity, unsure if calling him was the right step to take.

"No, I meant yes you did the right thing calling me." Henry said, voice quivering.

"Should I call the police? Ask for a missing person's report?" The young woman asked, never had she been in this situation before.

"No need, I will call them myself. I know someone there who can help me." The Englishman answered, grateful that Jo knew his secret. It would come in handy more than often. "Goodbye, be ready to welcome a detective who I will be coming with shortly."

"Ok, I understand. I'm sure your friend is alright Mr. Morgan." The nurse replied, empathy leaking from her voice, ending the call.

Henry needed to sit down, his knees started to feel like jelly. He hadn't considered Adam escaping this fast, his condition wore off too quickly. Henry concluded that his metabolism was so old and advanced, that no drug or any other paralysing method could last long in his body. His antibodies must be strong since Adam had been alive for over two thousand years. Feeling angry at himself for not paying enough attention, he looked at his pocket watch; 11:56. Jo was the only person he wanted to call. She would positively help him. But first, he had to tell her who Adam was.

It terrified him that Adam was loose. The old immortal was surly mad at his fellow brother for paralysing him. Revenge was never something good, even if he couldn't die...but Henry still felt pain after all. His breathing became jagged, panic infiltrating his entire being.

"Jo its Henry."

"What's wrong?" His partner asked, already knowing something was up.

"I...I mean we have a problem."

"Henry tell me." A stern voice called out.

"Just meet me at New York General Hospital. Don't dally. I need help finding somebody." Henry said, cutting the line before he could receive a reply.

Picking up his coat and scarf in his hands he left his office.

"Lucas, I'm heading out on police business. Take care of our two customers." The immortal pointed at the two corpses lying on the examination tables.

"Yes Doc!" The uncanny assistant responded, scrambling from his chair and starting his assignment.

As Henry rushed into the bustling New York City, he hailed a cab.

"New York General, please."

"As you wish...Henry."


	3. One Immortal to Another

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The escalating relationship between Henry and Jo is starting to take place. Then everything is thrown into turmoil when Jo get's shot with Henry's cursed gun. Is this the means to a new beginning? Or a new death? Then a murder pops up and the infamous duo learn a few important lessons. (Takes place right after Henry says "It's a Long Story" in the series finale.)

_**William Shawcross:** You cannot do justice to the dead. When we talk about doing justice to the dead we are talking about retribution for the harm done to them. But retribution and justice are two different things. _

"As you wish...Henry." The man driving the yellow taxi replied, with a taunting cold voice.

Henry gulped, pushing a lump of bile down his esophagus. He knew that voice, and would never forget it either. He did not want the same events to play out the first time he shared a cab with this Roman.

"Adam." He hissed. "Here to kill me?" The young immortal added, breaking the ice.

"No, no, no Henry. Why would I kill you? The pain is so much less...agonizing." Adam responded, a chuckle exiting his mouth.

"So, it seems you're going to torture me then." Henry stated, trying not to let his voice tremble.

"Henry, why would I ever torture you? I want you to feel much more excruciating pain than that." The two-thousand year old man modulated, anger seeping out. He then added an utterance that made Henry's blood go cold and boil simultaneously. "I heard Detective Martinez knows our secret. Tsk, tsk, tsk Henry. That wasn't a good move." Adam turned around from the driver's seat, to look Henry in the eyes as the car was halted at a traffic light.

"DON'T...don't you dare lay a finger on Jo! Or you will be sorry." Henry provoked, outraged.

"I won't." Adam didn't even flinch, he only looked amused. "And out of curiosity…or is it pity...how will you make me sorry? Hmm? By trying to paralyse me again? That didn't work out the first time. Didn't even have to kill myself to get out of that situation, Henry."

"You murderer!" Henry was having trouble keeping calm.

"No Henry. I'm not a murderer...just a friend. Look, I brought you to your destination, and you don't even need to pay the fee."

"I will get you." The Englishman whispered close enough for Adam to hear him, getting out the car. Deep down, he wanted punch Adam hard in the face, but it would not make any difference.

"What? No going to try and capture me." A smirk landed on the driver's face.

"Even if I do call the police, you'll just kill yourself and get away." The Doctor countered, closing the car door, fists clutched together and teeth gritted shut.

"Right you are. Goodbye Henry, be seeing you soon." The car fled the scene, and Henry watched it until he could see it no more. The medical examiner didn't know what to think. He knew Adam had something up his sleeve, but he was one person Henry couldn't read. Adam's face showed little emotion, almost non-apparent. It scared him to think that in a millennia, he might turn out the same. He folded the idea, knowing that Adam was a murderer, and The Doctor Henry Morgan was far from that. He was a seeker of justice, not retribution and vengeance.

He did not know how long he had been idly standing on the curb in front of the hospital, but extensively enough for Jo to sneak up behind him, trying to knock him out of his highly perturbed disorientated position.

"Henry...Henry. You ok? I came here as quickly as possible." Jo said, a little out of breath.

After the detective called his name the second time, he turned around, converting back to his normal bizarre self. "Martinez, thank God you're here." He exhaled. "Let's go inside, I'll explain everything. Heads up, we are dealing with a two-thousand year old immortal." He said fastening his pace, going inside the building.

"Wait...what?" Jo could only say, being interrupted from Henry's hollers.

"Come on detective, keep the pace."

At the reception desk, the nurse who called Henry led them to Adam's now empty hospital room. After the nurse left them alone, Jo did some inquiries involving a two-thousand year old immortal she only just got informed about.

"Just to make things clear Henry...but...back there, did you say another immortal exists...that is not you?" She sounded bewildered and utterly baffled at the thought of another immortal roaming around the streets of The Big Apple. The Latina couldn't digest the idea that there could be hundreds of immortals worldwide, hiding their secrets from the mortal race.

"You heard correctly. For months now I have been, in a certain way, stalked by a man who calls himself Adam, and he has much _much_ more experience about my curse than I. That ancient dagger was what started his curse, and for me it was a gun."

"That's how you became immortal? By a projectile? I thought─"

"That I was born with this unexplainable power? Very good hypothesis, but no. My first death was by bullet to the chest. Quite painful, but minor in comparison to drowning. When you drown, and are going deeper and deeper into the water, your body goes into a state of hypoxia, losing all the oxygen in your limbs. Then your lungs start to burn and soon you try to breath, but only water fills them. You eventually lose consciousness and die. Not the most painful way to die, but still in the top ten, and I'm telling you this out of experience." He simply stated like it was the most common thing to say out loud.

Jo simply nodded her head, but deep down she was thinking how crazy this conversation was, and how her life had turned insanely inconceivable. "Ok, since this weird conversation is over. Tell me more about this Adam guy."

"For starters, he's dangerous." He declared, studying Jo's face, trying to figure out what she was thinking. "I'm serious Jo, he's a cold-blooded murderer. Doesn't even think or regret it when he takes a life. For him, it's like eating; second nature. Worst of all, he never needs a reason. Only desire."

"Aren't you exaggerating a little bit? It's like you were right next to him when he killed someone." Jo laughed sarcastically.

Henry's first instinct was to lie, to make some intelligent comeback with a history lesson following, but he stopped himself, remembering he didn't need to lie anymore to her. The doctor wanted to keep his promise to her at all times; and how refreshing it was to keep it. All his life, he needed to lie and hide who he really was from almost everyone. It pained him every time, noticing how the person actually believed his excuses of a lie. Pushing the past in the past, he told her the complete truth.

"I was there when he killed someone...me. I was also in the house when you shot and killed the Jack the Ripper and the Dahlia impersonator, along with Adam. I got attacked and was surely going to die soon. Adam said he was helping me when he slit my throat like he was slicing a piece of tender meat. Saying that he was worried, and that you seeing me die was no good for anyone, so he killed me. He also wants to keep his curse a secret." The medical examiner spoke, illuminating Jo on what she needed to know.

"You went alone? Even after I told you not to?! You got murdered Henry!" She yelled, visibly upset.

"Don't worry, dying is something I cannot do." Henry said reassuringly, calming his partner down.

"Ok, why are we in a hospital?" Jo asked, going into detective mode.

"Yesterday, I had a face-off with Adam. He killed me again, but before I disappeared I got a chance to stick a needle in him and paralyse him since killing him was not an option. I am not a murderer. He was then sent here, but escaped. When I called you, I didn't know he would confront me in the cab." Henry mumbled the last sentence, knowing he wasn't helping Jo's nerves to settle down.

"Your life is messed up Henry..." She breathed out slowly retrieving some of her composure back. "Because this is way out of my expertise, what do you want to do about this old psychopathic immortal? Killing him isn't an option, and finding him seems impossible."

Henry flew his hands up in defeat. "Right now, the answer has left me rather at a bad time. I called you for help, because you're the only one I trust, including Abe of course, but he isn't you...or a detective with a badge." The Englishman confessed.

"I cannot pinpoint why I am putting up with you so much. I could lose my job. Doing these private investigations for you and not being able to tell anyone why." She told him, looking like she was about to gain a migraine."

"I understand and I am utterly thankful."

Their complicated dilemma (finding Adam) was put on hold when Jo's phone began to ring its usual ringtone. She took it out of her pocket, glancing at the screen, looking at who it was. It was not even remotely surprising that it was Abraham. Henry was hard to contact when not at work nor at home.

"Hello Abe. Do you want to speak with Henry?" She asked

"I need to speak with both of you!" He sounded frantic.

"Whoa, calm down. I'll put the call on speakerphone." She pressed a button on her phone. "Ok, explain."

"Henry, it's gone." He said with anxiety.

"Abe...what's gone?" Henry asked, knowing what was coming next.

"The gun. I put it in the safe straight away after you got it back yesterday. I'm sorry dad, who could have done this? Adam is paralysed." There was a long silence. "Dad?"

Jo cut in because the man standing next to her seemed too distraught to say anything else. She did not know about any gun, but she did now know about Adam. "Abe, he escaped earlier today. Now why has this gun made both of you so agitated?" She asked. She knew guns were not to be played with, but how both Abe and Henry sounded and looked, this particular gun had something different about it.

"I think Henry should go into the details. Come quickly."

"I'm coming Abe, we'll be there soon." Henry finally responded, rushing out the room with Jo following him.

"Will this day ever go back to its normal pace?" Jo muttered to herself, shaking her head.

"Where did you park your car detective?" He asked, still in a rush.

"The back parking lot, in a disabled spot." Henry looked at her with shame. "What? It was the closest and it seemed you were in trouble."

Henry chuckled. "Indeed I was, sort of."

"Come on get in...We have a thief to catch." Jo said, starting the engine and heading to Abe's Antiques.

...

After Henry left for work, Abraham went out to go to an open house that his sources said had many rare antiques for sale. Not wanting to skip the chances of finding something beautiful for his shop, he closed up shop for a couple of hours. His sources were right, and he came back with a few pieces of gold and diamond jewellery consisting mostly of earrings. When he came home, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. A robbery was not on Abe's mind.

Knowing how valuable his purchase was, he made the logical decision of putting them in the safe. That's when he figured it out. Someone had taken his father's cursed gun. A feeling of nervousness washed over him as he fled to the phone. He needed to get hold of Henry. He tried his office number, but Henry's assistant picked up, saying he left in a hurry, gloating how he got to do two autopsies by himself. Hanging up, he knew who his father was probably with: Detective Martinez.

The call ended abruptly, whilst he waited for them to come. The anxiety hadn't left his body, Adam was back and he knew something was bound to happen...and soon.


	4. Phones and Messages

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The escalating relationship between Henry and Jo is starting to take place. Then everything is thrown into turmoil when Jo get's shot with Henry's cursed gun. Is this the means to a new beginning? Or a new death? Then a murder pops up and the infamous duo learn a few important lessons. (Takes place right after Henry says "It's a Long Story" in the series finale.)

**_Lester Cole:_ ** _What do you know what goes on inside a man's mind? Outside he may look like a gentleman, but inside he may have the hankering for ... murder.  
_

The car ride was fast, but caked with silence. Henry was looking out the window, off in his own little world; in a thoughtful state of mind—and Jo kept her focus on driving, knowing that she was not getting any answers at least not before arriving at the Morgan's residence. Impatience caught up with her every time a red traffic light halted them. She had even honked her horn several times at a car who was driving a little too slow...for her standardised opinion, and the detective almost put her police sirens and flashing lights on. She didn't proceed to accomplish this action, for there was no imminent danger, and her badge—especially her gun—were two possessions she wanted to hold onto.

Henry also gained much restlessness, but showed it less than his partner. He desperately wanted to make sure his son was alright. Any father would feel the same way; family was always important. Adam was never someone to be trifled with—more specifically mortals who stood in his way. The immortal shrink, from Henry's difficult analysis, had much pride. Thinking he had an immense superiority factor over everyone, including the medical examiner. This was one of the few things Henry could figure out about his 'fan'. It was apparent to see; the immortal called himself Adam for he had said he was in the world since the beginning. His narcissism was quite present when he also spoke. It was with overconfidence. All those traits jumbled together made a person have a hankering for murder...and cynical games.

Parking (legally) along the antique shop's street, the duo stepped inside, using long quick strands. The door flew wide open, making a chiming noise so that Abe always knew when a customer entered. The owner anticipated the duo to come promptly, so he waited next to the entrance, peering out the window for any automobile to pull up in front.

"Abe are you hurt? Are you ok?" Henry blurted, pushing his son in for a bear hug, glad nothing happened.

"I'm fine dad. I wasn't even here when Adam broke in…although I don't know if I could call it breaking in…it was done so expertly I hadn't even noticed until I opened the safe." Abe made clear, welcoming the hug, then moving to sit down on one of the antique chairs being sold in the store.

"How do we even know it's Adam? It could have just been a simple burglary." Jo stated, more tension adding to her day was something she didn't want, but expected.

"Look at the facts detective. The thief knew precisely at what time Abe was going to leave, so it couldn't have been a spontaneous robbery. Additionally, why would the thief only take a gun, when there are far more valuable items in the safe? So the culprit must have been Adam since he probably knew we had my gun hidden in the house somewhere." The M.E explained. Nevertheless, it seemed Jo still had yet to agree, until she knew why the gun was so special.

"Before we continue, I think it's a good idea to fill me in about this gun of yours Henry. I know it was what killed you before you gained immortality (she was still having trouble saying that word), but what have you not told me?" Jo demanded, crossing her arms at the same level as her waist, acting stubborn.

Henry cast a glimpse at Abraham, who was motioning with his eyes that he was not explaining a thing, letting the immortal do the honours. He adjusted his scarf subconsciously.

"You've probably already figured this out, but the place where you found my watch and the photo…I had been there…but died. I had a standoff with Adam. He wanted us to try out a hypothesis he came up with. That the weapons what cursed us, could take away our immortality and kill us for real. I am not a murderer so I couldn't kill him, but he shot me with my gun. As you can see, his assumption was way off." Henry said, motioning to himself.

"Ok, but if the gun is harmless to you, why are you both so anxious about it being stolen?" Jo asked, getting fed up. She didn't like being the one out of the loop, always having to ask questions, but it came with the occupation.

"Think of it this way. We are not concerned about what was stolen," Abe commenced.

"But who stole it." Henry pursued the sentence.

"If Adam stole it," The father continued.

"There must be a reason." The son carried on.

"And Adam's reasons are never good." The doctor finished, posing his fingers to his chin.

Jo couldn't help herself from chuckling. They were truly father and son; even finishing each other's sentences, sounding truly dramatic. Both parties looked at her strangely, not understanding the reason for her entertainment. They shrugged it off when it seemed she wouldn't elaborate. "If this were an ordinary robbery I would call it in, but since it isn't I don't know where to start. I don't see Adam trying to sell it, so we can't track the gun from any online bidding websites. I'm stuck Henry. This is one investigation I can't seem to find any leads on...since this guy has quite the upper hand." Jo let out an exasperated sigh, she felt like sitting down, but restricted herself.

"Don't worry Jo, we'll figure something out." Henry said reassuringly, exposing a warm smile.

She glanced at her watch 2:32. Time flew by when running all over the place. "I really got to run, I have already spent too much time on this and I have a job to get back to!" Jo said, rushing out the door. "I'll call you later Henry! After I'm finished work." She told him, rummaging through her coat pocket to find her keys, and unlocking her car with a swift push of a button. She half-waved before entering her car, zooming to the eleventh precinct.

Henry, whose work was less strict about him leaving at odd hours, also went back to the M.E's office, but with a much slower pace. He knew his assistant was good enough to work efficiently by himself...usually, so he was trusted not to muck up any of the autopsies.

The rest of the day was slow and uneventful for the student of death. Just an ordinary work day. He checked Lucas' reports of the two bodies, feeling quite proud of his assistant. He had taught him well.

Henry couldn't stop looking at the time, realising that it seemed to be going slower, but he knew that that was an impossibility. However, being immortal was an impossibility as well.

Henry got home quickly, for he was awaiting a phone call from Jo. He wasn't exactly sure when she was going to telephone him because her work hours were always shifting around, depending on the cases she was working on. However, the immortal knew that there were no baffling homicides on her plate right now, so she was going to phone him in the following hour or so. Along with Abe, they relaxed sincerely for once in a long time, putting to their lips the wonderful fragrance of red wine. Its taste on Henry's pallet was bitter, but sweet enough to enjoy with a feeling of pleasure.

When both family members sat together peacefully chatting amongst themselves, it was 6:00 o'clock. The most discussed topic was Henry's day, more precisely Henry's encounter with the taxi driver. Worrisomely, after dinner, a glass of wine and a long chat, it was 8:11—and Jo still hadn't got in touch with Henry. The Englishman's first thought was that she had forgotten or had been caught up with work, but he had a feeling that was churning his insides. Something wasn't right. Jo was always a woman who was true to her word, and never late. Both things not happening was not a coincidence.

Tapping his foot nervously, he stood up, needing to go and see if his partner was alright. Abraham had already noticed the vexed look on his father's face. Usually, that face was always connected with Detective Martinez somehow. This time he knew why.

"Dad, Detective Martinez can take care of herself. She'll probably call in the next few minutes." Abe assuaged, but Henry stayed hidebound to the thought of Jo being in some sort of dilemma. Seeing that reassurance wasn't working, the antique lover chose a different approach. "Why don't you call her instead of waiting for her to call you?" It seemed like the family roles had switched places.

"Yes, yes, indeed you are right as always Abe." Henry responded, patting his son's back and advancing to the phone. He picked it up, dialing Jo's cellphone number he had written down on a piece of paper in case of emergencies, which lay on top of the counter next to the telephone. It also contained her work number along with her extension and her home number that she needn't know he had.

It ringed until Jo's voice came on; her recorded message. Jo always picked up her cell phone. Now along with his churning innards, butterflies started to appear in the pit of his stomach. Something was positively wrong. Henry usually gathered facts before coming to a conclusion, but this time he was using mostly feelings. And this feeling wasn't good.

He called her work next. His heart lifted when someone picked up. It then plummeted when Hanson responded.

"Hello?"

"Hanson, is Jo there?" Henry asked rather in a loud unnatural voice.

"Was going to ask you the same question. Haven't seen her since she left in a hurry sometime during lunch. Do you kn—" Henry put down the phone, not caring how rude he had just been. His gentleman-like personality was diminishing from being too focused on one specific thing...person. He would have to apologise later.

Henry's last resort was her home number, he dialed, it rang; nothing. An electronic message. She probably deleted her last one, due to the fact it probably contained her late husband's voice on it. Both of them talking merrily, asking the person who phoned to leave a message after the tone. Putting the phone down for the last time, he could see his hands shaking abnormally. It shocked him to realise how much of an impact Jo could have on him. He couldn't deny that a lot of unanswered feelings were being thrown into the blend, and he was going to make sure that he would discuss them...when he found Jo.

"She isn't picking up her phone. I'm going to her house just in case." Henry told Abe.

"You really shouldn't be doing this..." But Henry was already gone. "By yourself, I was going to say...never mind. Be safe..." Abe finished, mumbling even if he knew his father couldn't possibly hear him.

He ran, knowing she lived not that many blocks away (it actually was quite a lot). He was utterly distraught, even had forgotten to put on his scarf. The cold wind stopped hitting his face as he came up to his partner's front door, knocking on it rapidly, and calling out her name numerous times. Nobody was home.

During the period Henry called out his friend's name loudly, he didn't hear footsteps coming up behind him. He didn't even have time to turn around because darkness had already enveloped him, blood trickling into his hair. Was that a shovel? Henry Morgan...hit with a shovel. Terribly way to fall unconscious...or was it a terrible way to die?


	5. First Degree Abduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The escalating relationship between Henry and Jo is starting to take place. Then everything is thrown into turmoil when Jo get's shot with Henry's cursed gun. Is this the means to a new beginning? Or a new death? Then a murder pops up and the infamous duo learn a few important lessons. (Takes place right after Henry says "It's a Long Story" in the series finale.)

_"I should know better than anyone-you can't tell who a person is just from his looks..."_

It was a simple fact stating the obvious; Jo did not make it back to work. Fate had another much more diabolical plan in mind, tottering under the issue of fatality—abduction. Although abduction was less severe than being buried alive, tortured or raped, it still did horrific wonders to the human psyche, unless the abductee had police training and a bucket load of courage. Luckily, Jo possessed both. For a woman, she had balls of steel—but every human had their breaking point. The only way not to fall victim to it, is if the person got rescued before that happens. Some could withstand being kidnapped for months, it all depended on the perpetrator...and its prey. The last thing a victim would want to do was run, because there was nowhere to flee to...dying was usually the only escape route. In the midst of desperation, Jo wasn't going to be the prey, she wanted to be the survivor...

Jo didn't know her car had been tinkered with; sabotaged after the engine started coughing up smoke and choking like a man with food stuck in his wind pipe. Pulling her car next to a curb, she got out and slammed her fist onto the bonnet out of frustration. Her day seemed not to like her since she felt it getting worse and worse. She cranked open the hood, letting the engine cool down, needing to call a tow-truck. Cars were never her strong suit; guns were more adequately fitted with her expertise. She sighed, the Lieutenant was not going to be pleased with her coming into work with extreme tardiness stamped on her forehead.

She took her phone out from her pocket, but didn't ever need a number for a towing service. She would have to ask someone, or find the yellow pages. The detective eyed her surroundings. She was situated on a small back street, (she took this route because it was a quicker way to the precinct) not many cars passed through since it wasn't anywhere worth knowing. Perfect spot for predators to seek out their target—but Jo didn't know that.

She bent down, checking her engine once more, just in case it worked well enough for her to be able to drive it to the precinct. Alas, that was when she was the most vulnerable. She was caught by surprise, not having a chance to touch her gun. It was much less painful than being hit by a shovel. A hand moved in front of her face, covering it with a cloth. A chloroformed cloth. She didn't even have time to scream. The anesthetic took its poll, and she fell into a mandatory dream state. Even with her combat training, being taken by surprise always had the upper hand. Escaping was futile because she was already taken.

...

She awoke in an unknown warehouse, feeling extremely dopy and head pounding like there was a hammer at work. She started to lift her hands to her head out of instinct, but couldn't. They were chained behind the chair she sat upon. Ropes snaked around her ankles. At least she wasn't gagged. If she were an ordinary woman, she would start screaming bloody murder, but she was an intelligent young one. Screaming for help would get her killed much faster, and she didn't have a death wish.

It was hard for her to concentrate on the problem. The chloroform was still giving her side effects. Jo struggled ferociously with the restraints, but nothing came loose. Even the chair was solidly bolted to the ground. She found that her gun was missing, along with her badge, not to her surprise. Her coat had also been taken off, no chance of recovering her cell phone. Knowing she couldn't do anything, she scanned her surroundings, her head starting to clear up.

She was sitting in a large open area; a warehouse. Her only ringed ambience was composed of a couple of large beams, pieces of discarded trash, and another chair, facing her quite a lengthy distance away. The windows were very few so the lighting was obscure, but there was enough light sifting through to see. Jo couldn't lose hope and didn't panic, but sometimes that can all disappear in a blink of an eye.

...

Jo didn't know exactly how long she had been stuck inside the warehouse, forced to sit on an uncomfortable chair. She donned a watch, but sadly her hands were tied behind the chair, and she didn't have eyes in the back of her head. As the light shining from the windows got shrouded by darkness, a couple of light bulbs flickered on. The detective didn't know if it was a curse or a miracle; she wouldn't have to be in the dark, but now she wouldn't be able to sleep. The lights were quite bright.

That's when she heard footsteps coming from outside, becoming louder. It seemed like the person was dragging an object across the floor. Jo wished it wasn't human. The door opened with a click, sounding like a lock was placed on the handle, not letting anyone enter...or rather keeping people from leaving. She saw a man, sporting a hat, but her eyes were not fixed on him. She was centering her regard on the other man; passed out. Henry Morgan.

Jo wasn't scared for her life, or panicked whilst she realised she was kidnapped. Now was a whole different story. She couldn't let Henry die. That she feared much more than her own life. She could see dried blood soaked in his brown hair. She started squirming. Wanting...needing to go and see if her partner was alright.

"Let me go! Don't drag Henry into all of this!" Martinez yelled at the man who was placing Henry on the chair opposite her. Only tying his hands and nothing else. The chair was also bolted to the floor. It seemed Henry didn't need to be restrained as much because Jo was going to be used as leverage.

"It is a pleasure to meet you detective. Henry had told me so much about you...well he hasn't but that's not the point." The man said, ignoring Jo's angry tone towards him.

"Who are you?" She asked, still struggling, using all her force.

"Now think hard. I'm Henry's number one _fan_." The man chuckled, closing the distance between them. Jo gasped; it was Adam. "Now sweet dreams...I have to wait for Henry to wake up before starting our much needed conversation." Muffled by her many blasphemous screams, the immortal knocked her out, using the same technique as before. Anesthesia worked wonders in the criminal world.

...

Henry was having trouble keeping his eyes open. The blurriness was fogging his sense of sight. He assumed to have gained a slight concussion from what his symptoms were. His short term memory was foggy for a few moments, but then it started to all come back. Jo was missing, he went to her house, and then got hit from behind with a shovel. His head still hurt.

Henry shook his head, thinking he was hallucinating because Jo's silhouette appeared in front of him. He blinked continuously, seeing that his hands were tied behind the chair he was sitting on. Henry saw Jo with her eyes closed, it was unquestionable that she was not sleeping. Unconscious was a better definition. That's when he knew that his brain was certainly not playing tricks with him.

He was too wise not to know who was behind everything; Adam. The man who stood behind him, watching his _friend's_ reaction to waking up in front of his also abducted friend. It amused him, seeing the expression of shock, then horror, knowing that she was in danger. Now he needed the female to wake up once again. He waited patiently, he had enough time. He slipped back into the shadows, not wanting to reveal himself just yet. Timing was everything.

Henry started to call Jo, trying to awaken her from her slumber. "Jo! Jo! I need you to wake up! Wake up!" He shouted, trying to get out of his restraints but to no avail, his strength was diminished because of his concussion.

He stopped struggling when he saw Jo stir, shifting positions, groaning from inhaling too much chloroform; it wasn't healthy. The M.E saw Jo's eyes flicker open, getting used to the light. When she saw Henry, fear and worry flashed in her eyes.

"Henry...its Adam...he's behind all of this." Jo whispered, not knowing that their abductor was able to listen.

"I know. We will get out...I promise." Henry whispered back with absolute sincerity.

"You shouldn't promise things you can't keep Henry." Adam finally revealed himself, walking in-between the two partners. Henry was about to object with anger, but Adam ignored him, taking out **The** gun out from his inner coat pocket. He kept staring at it, talking. "At first, I thought that the gun didn't kill you because maybe I used the wrong type of bullet...but then it struck me, and everything made sense." A satisfactory smile formed on his face, cleaning the gun with a cloth. "But before any of that." He looked at Jo. "I see you know our secret." He then looked at Henry. "You knew I would never let this slide. Everybody talks...in time." A flash of anger showed up on his face, touching Jo's cheek. The detective tried to remove herself from his touch, so Adam clenched her face tighter.

"She has nothing to do with this! What about Abe? He knows our secret. What? You're going to kidnap him too?" Henry asked, looking at Adam straight in the eyes.

"He can be trusted. I can see how loyal he is to his father. But, she on the other hand...is different." Adam sneered, letting go of Jo's face.

"I told you she is not a problem." Henry responded.

"Oh on the contrary, she's why we are all here." He smirked

"When I get free, I will arrest you and you will rot in prison forever!" Jo yelled, getting fed up of their hostage situation. She realised how crazy the guy really was.

"Feisty, but that will never happen." He laughed. "Now let's go back to my revelation. Did you know that here are few cursed objects that have been scattered through time? This gun is one of them. It cannot take away a curse...but it can give one to any mortal. Just—with—one—shot." He articulated slowly, pointing the gun directly at Jo.

Henry's heart stopped, he had to do something. "You are a monster, not respecting human life, only your own. How can it be so easy for you to kill?" Henry asked trying to release himself from his bondages. He was trying to stall.

Adam lowered the gun, going up to Henry. "It is true that I do not respect human life more that I respect my own. And if it is easy for me to kill, that is because I am not afraid of death. I can look at it in the face. That's why I am going to kill your partner. Don't worry, she'll probably just end up with the same curse as us. What a horrible way to live, as you well know. Then you will always know that it is your fault she will have to live forever. Don't feel bad...she'll still have you. But she will see all her other loved ones die, and have to relocate every decade." He untied Jo. She was now standing in the middle of the large room, hands in the air. The gun was pointed back at her.

"Henry..." Tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Jo, everything will be fine." Henry said, not completely telling her the truth. He felt like his heart was slowly giving away.

"I trust you." Jo swallowed, voice shaking. She did have a really old gun pointed at her. She was giving up, knowing she would die soon. This was when all hope left her.

"Now just tell yourselves that everything will be fine." Adam said with a cold voice. "Now goodbye, hope the water is warm." A loud bang echoed through the room, a shot was fired...


	6. A View to a Kill

_**Unknown Author:** Life without a friend is death without a witness._

* * *

 

He broke his promise. Adam was correct, never vow something you cannot keep. Henry felt his heart rip out of his chest as he saw dark red materializing from where the projectile had hit...her. The immortal still had an ounce of faith left. When experiencing a traumatic event, most wish for a miracle. If Adam's thesis was right (hopefully), she might not succumb to fatality. He then wallowed in that idea; her becoming like him. Dying was a better fate than living forever in a life full of lies and deceit. Secrets always came with consequences. Wetness dampened his eyes, shouting her name beseechingly as the person he cared for fell to the ground with a thump, hands touching her abdomen. From the amount of blood pouring out and that she was in intense pain, Henry couldn't accept it, but she had penetrating abdominal trauma, and was going into hypovolemic shock (insufficient blood in the circulatory system)...she was going to die and he could not do anything to stop it. The bullet was torn into shards and had wedged itself inside her, for the gun was antiquely old.

Anger and vengeance pierced and flooded the heart of the restrained man. Right then, he was contemplating on the act of murder—Adam's murder, getting it into his mind that it was not really murder, for Adam would not exactly die. He heard Jo painfully say his name, she didn't have much more time. All the lethal and criminal thoughts evacuated his entire being; his wise and calm personality took place once again. Killing was not...never the option, it would only make him as bad as his enemy. His duty was to be with Jo.

The chair wasn't dislodging from staid position, but the ropes fastened around his wrists were starting to come loose. Dismally, Adam was already ahead of the situation. He knew that when needed, a human's strength surmounted the norm, and Henry needed to go see Jo. The centuries made him inhuman and filled with madness, but they also made him wise and knowledgeable beyond measure.

"Isn't it wonderful Henry? We are going to have a new born enter our little family," The psychotic immortal asserted, dropping the gun and walking towards Henry slowly.

"One day you will pay dearly for all your crimes!" The medical examiner bellowed, finally escaping from the seat, standing up with a fast jolt, trying to get to Jo, but Adam was in the way.

"As I told your _girlfriend_ , this is never going to come to pass." He snickered, his narcissistic side revealing itself. He sighed, a non-emotional smirk landing along his lips. "I can't stay, I'll let you both be alone." He took out a knife, slashing all his carotid arteries, falling unconscious from the lack of oxygen travelling to his brain, disappearing a few seconds later. The ancient immortal was happy, he found a way to wound Henry...without even killing him. Making him break his promise, letting his partner die and letting her live the same cursed life was enough to send him into the pit of despair. That's what he thought...but was he right?

Henry hated it; it felt like he lost against Adam. He got away…again. Putting his defeat out of the picture, he sped to Jo's side. Her eyes were half closed, almost passed out from the lack of blood remaining in her system. He acted like a doctor, placing his hands on her wound to slow down the bleeding—but it wouldn't halt it. Blood, her blood seeped through his pores, high chances of him getting an infection, but he didn't care about hygiene.

"Hey Jo stay awake." He pleaded, shaking her. She moaned, sounding like she didn't have any energy left.

"I'm sorry…" It was faint, but still present.

"No. Don't you dare be sorry! This is my fault, I should have protected you. I should have—"The frenzied immortal got cut off by Jo curling her fingers into his.

"Shut…up Henry." Jo said, coughing in-between syllables. "You…know the bad…side of…dying?" The pained detective gasped, voiced raspy.

"You're not going to die. You're going to wake up after, in the lake. I'll meet you there myself." Henry cried, shaking his head frantically. Believing and seeing what he wanted to believe and see, not at what might happen.

Jo didn't want to listen, she just answered the question she had asked her partner. "*Cough*…that I was starting to…*wheeze* fall for…you." She replied, chuckling as much as she could, but the pain got in the way.

"Me too. But I'll see you later." Henry still couldn't accept that these were the last moments he might have with her. Jo seemed to be grasping onto her life dearly, too bad death was an obstacle no one could stay clear of. Even immortals died sometimes, they just had many more lives in front of them.

"Don't…*cough* get your…hopes up…" The detective breathed her last breath, her grasp leaving Henry's hand, at 12:52 Jo Martinez passed away. It was her first death, but the first one was always the most important because it was the same time as her rebirth. She had vanished...

Henry sat on the ground, legs too shaky to stand up. She didn't die, she was still alive, swimming in the river somewhere. Steadying his two feet on firm ground, he fled the warehouse, needing to find a phone to call Abe with. He was starting to change his idea on getting a cell phone. They really did come in handy.

He was in a rough neighbourhood, no idea where he was. He wouldn't have enough time to get to Jo before she...resurfaced. Abe would have to go in his place. Henry's adrenaline pumped widely as he tried to find a phone. He looked around, filtering his surroundings. There were a few other small warehouses and old run-down apartment buildings. A pay phone stood gloomily alone on a sombre corner, slightly illuminated being that there was a lamp post fairly close to it. Henry ran towards it, Jo only occupying his every thought. He somewhat felt afraid, being in a dangerous neighbourhood during the witching hour; he'd heard stories centering on the macabre, also seen a lot for himself.

The rushed doctor opened the stall door with a little too much force, making the hinges crack. Henry took out his wallet (relieved he still had it on his person), putting two twenty-five cents in the palm of his hand, and then compositing it through the small slot situated on the upper left of the pay-phone. He took the receiver in his hand, punching in the digits of Abraham's phone. It rang...once...twice...then someone picked it up.

"Hello, Henry? Is that you?" Abe suspected, he had not gone to sleep since his father had not come home yet, and it usually meant that Henry was either in a heap of trouble...or died and needed picking up. This time, the old man was much more nervous than usual. Jo was also probably in trouble, and she didn't have an infinite amount of lives.

"Yeah Abe, it's me." Henry said, out of breath from the running.

"Do you need me to come to the river to get you?" Abe asked, already getting ready to leave the shop.

"Not exactly...I need you to go there...but to pick Martinez up." Henry said rather quickly, not wanting to stall.

"What! Does this mean—" Abraham's voice trailed off.

"Yes, she's cursed now and it was my fault..." Henry sighed, fist punching the box in front of him. He was furious, blaming himself for her demise, when it was actually Adam's fault. Henry Morgan had a problem. Whenever he messed up or something did not go the way he planned, he would blame it all on himself, not understanding that no one was perfect...just imperfect. His immortality was never going to change that.

"Henry! I don't believe that one bit. Jo probably has a different story." Abe told him straight, telling him off in a stern kind of way.

"No, you don't understand I made a promise and I broke it...I should have never told her. It would have been better if I had distanced myself rather than now being ashamed and hated." Henry responded with a sour voice. He was looking at everything like the glass was half empty. Never a good way to perceive things.

His son did not want to hear anymore. "Don't say that! I will go get Jo and I'll bring her safely back here. Now you just find a way home, and don't be so hard on yourself. I already know Adam was the culprit, not you." Abe hung up, not letting Henry say another word.

Henry covered his face with his hands, breathing deeply. Getting his act together. He then fixed his dishevelled hair, and exited the cubicle, finding the best way home...when you are in a place unknown to you. The best action was getting a taxi. Yellow cabs in New York were always easy to find. It was like finding an elephant in a haystack.

...

He drove as quickly as he could, but also with safety and between the diving limit. So, it wasn't as fast as suspected. He arrived at the port, same place he usually picked up Henry...every time he was in a fatal accident, which was more often than normal. Abraham was sometimes puzzled on how death followed everywhere his father went. Some people stayed alive for ninety years before death knocked on their door. His dad was approximately around two hundred and fifty years old...and he had already died over a dozen times, possibly even more. Death surely liked the door Henry possessed. Or perhaps the curse had something to do with it. Some people were unlucky, like a man who was struck by lightning twice in his life.

He got out of his car, walking close to the water, leaning over the side, trying to find the detective, half not looking since he knew she would be in her birthday suit; one of the only suits that made everybody too embarrassed to look at...usually. It was hard for him to see, the surface of the water seemed black from the night sky reflecting on it. He hoped Henry wasn't wrong, if not he would never see the detective ever again.

He kept eying the water with precision. He let out a long breath when he noticed ripples, then splashes of water appearing next to the pier. Something had emerged...and was perfectly alive and well.

He had a blanket ready, and he outstretched his hand, waiting for it to be clasped. He felt Jo's wet shivering hand, and pulled her out of the water (she was lighter than he had anticipated). Abe shut his eyes, giving the shaking woman the blanket. Abe knew clothes would be much more comfortable, but he did not tend to have women's clothing lying around his house. After a couple of seconds, he opened his eyes, looking Jo straight in the face.

"Welcome back..." The poor woman looked shocked out of her wits, and was having a hard time breathing. "Breathe, Jo breathe. Don't hyperventilate, having a panic attack will not resolve anything." Abe said calmly, taking her arm and walking her slowly to the car. This was going to impact and alter Jo's life atomically.

...

She couldn't breathe. Being underwater would do that to a human. Jo moved her arms and feet, trying to get to the surface. The water was ice cold and she didn't want to lose any fingers or toes to hypothermia. Her mind was focused on not drowning. Just being shot and killed wasn't invading her mind for the moment, only the instinct for survival.

She emerged, needing to get warm fast. She started swimming towards the pier. Suddenly, a hand appeared from above her. She could see the face attached to the hand enough to know who it was. Abraham Morgan.

Jo realised she was naked, but was offered a blanket by the closed eyed man. That's when she remembered...she had died.

The air in her lungs felt heavy, like it was having trouble coming out. She was starting to have a panic attack. The only reason she calmed down was because Abe was there, speaking with a soft tone. She followed him to the car, hands and legs shaking, and not only because she was cold.

"Where's...Henry?" Her teeth chattered fervently.

"We'll meet him at home, and please help him, he sounded quite depressed on the phone." Abe answered frowning.

"What? He's depressed? I just got shot, died, and now cursed...why is he depressed?" Jo asked, half joking.

"He thinks that everything is his fault."


	7. Chapters 7 through 16

**_Charles Baudelaire:_ ** _But what does an eternity of damnation matter to one who has found for one second the infinity of pleasure?_

Chapter 7

A Guilty Kind of Feeling

She couldn't stop thinking about what happened to her...dying a rather painful death. A few things were foggy to her, it must have been because of how much blood she had lost. The detective remembered Henry's stature next to her, with a look of anguish pasted on his face. If they said anything to each other, she couldn't remember, it was like a haze was covering a few of her memories. The pain she felt was nothing she had ever felt before, slowly bleeding out was not something she wanted to experience ever again. Sure, Jo had been shot before, but not in any internal organs.

As her life faded into nothingness, she actually did not see any bright white lights, but she did experience an overwhelming flash of her whole life. She had always thought seeing your life like a film when on the brink of death was a superstitious myth. She was stand corrected. But not many things surprised her anymore; her close friend was an immortal and now was she. The view she had on the world was now completely altered.

She started to hate the experience of riding in cars; it made her get impatient. Still naked under the blanket, she wrapped it around her tightly. She leaned her head back onto the car's headrest, closing her eyes. Jo wanted everything to go away. Her head was still filled with the images of her dying and waking up in the dark murky waters.

She was terrified; immortality was not something she wanted. Her job was her life. Before her husband went first, but now he was gone, so her job occupied the empty space. Albeit, Henry started making a place in her heart as well as her close friend and homicide solving partner. Not that she had ever really thought about it, him worming into her heart that is.

She was relieved Abe hadn't tried to commence a conversation with her, she was obviously not in the mood to talk to anyone. The shock and fright still lay heavy around her―and probably wasn't going to extinguish any time soon. It utterly made sense, any person would feel the same way. She had just perished not some time ago, and was now sitting in a car, very much alive.

They both got out of the car, Jo beginning to get fed up from all her shaking. She paced quickly inside; she was naked after all and being a detective increased her wanting to be respected...and not seen au-naturel (with a blanket).

She entered, Abe trailing behind, seeing Henry pacing rapidly up and down in front of the shop's door. He somehow managed to get home before them. The medical examiner was right―taxis were everywhere in New York.

"Jo! How I am relieved to see you!" Henry gave Jo a bone crushing hug, then became stiff, still blaming himself for everything, backing away.

Jo immediately saw Henry's guilt stricken face, and she did the most surprising action: she slapped him across the face―hard. "Don't you dare think that this is your fault Henry Morgan!" She shouted, stern look in her eyes.

Henry gaped, wide eyed, still guilty. He couldn't even look her in the eyes. "I should have never told you. Then you would be safe, now you're cursed and I can't do anything about it!" Henry shot back, still showing a red mark on his face from where she had hit him.

"Will I have to hit you again? Henry I asked for answers, and I was not going to stop until I got them. I dug myself into all of this, so this is not your fault. Adam shot me, not you. Now go back to your usual charming self and not this nervous wreck." Jo said, motioning her hands to all of him.

"But―"

"No buts. For starters don't think I am mad at you and if you say anything else that will put you down, I'll have to shoot you." Jo told him. " _If I still had my gun..."_ Jo then thought, not knowing she had actually said it out loud.

Henry couldn't believe how calm she was, but it was Jo and she was known to be calm and patient while doing her stressful job, especially when interrogating suspects who always had at least one thing to lie about. He stared at her with skepticism. He couldn’t determine if his partner really would shoot him or that she was only being sarcastic. The immortal couldn't come to a conclusion.

...

Just after a smack echoed in the room and red was seen, Abe decided to leave the premises, knowing he wasn't welcomed into their little spat―not that he would want to come between them. They both needed to sort things out on their own, seeing they were both grown adults and proving that they didn't need anyone to supervise them. Especially the son. So he climbed upstairs to the kitchen, putting his glasses on, taking out his pen from his breast pocket and started on a riddle that appeared in the newspaper every day. He liked riddles since it made his brain get some exercise. It read:

**_"This thing all things devours;_ **

**_Birds, beasts, trees, and flowers;_ **

**_Gnaws iron, bites steel;_ **

**_Grinds hard stones to meal;_ **

**_Slays kings, ruins towns,_ **

**_And beats high mountains down."_ **

The old man laughed, finding the answer so simple and so connected to his life. " _Time"_ He thought. The answer was time, and it would devour him soon enough. Before today, he would have been scared to die, to leave his father behind without anyone else to take care of him, but now he was at peace with death. Henry now had Jo. They could take care of each other. He knew it wasn't the best choice since now Detective Martinez couldn't live a simple ordinary life. Whatever the case, he knew she would be fine. Sure, she would encounter many problems, but everyone had bumps along the road of their life. Change and problems were inevitable, but she had Henry and vice versa. He knew everything would be fine.

...

Pulling back his head and looking to the ceiling, he laughed. From what Jo had just told him, he realized how childish he was acting and especially thinking. Jo slapping him and threatening him with her (absent) gun knocked his senses, intelligence and wisdom back into place. He still did feel somewhat guilty and bad about her obtaining eternal life. He also felt culpable because a part of him felt happy since now he had one person he cared for who would never die and leave him, but that was his selfishness acting up. The Englishman, although, had enough confidence to tell himself that bad things would happen, and how you acted afterwards was what made a difference and that counted. So he was going to take action, giving himself the task of helping Jo thoroughly through her new ability.

Henry would need to tell her eventually that she would not be able to stay in one place for a long time; which meant she would have to give up her job someday. The M.E also needed to present her with false identities, other documents, birth certificates... The doctor would be the detective's so-called trainer and teacher. How to live with a secret that could never get out into the public.

The Past-Londoner felt like he owed her. Firstly, for moderately getting her into this lawfully mess (even if Jo wanted to know everything anyway) and secondly, she got shot (no one enjoys getting shot).

"Ok sorry...Thank goodness you are not blaming me...I don't think I would cope well, you not talking to me." Not to make things weird he added. "You know, because then I wouldn't be able to solve cases with you."

"Does this mean I'll have to quit my job? Because I love my job." Jo asked, drooping her eyes.

"No, not just yet. Don't worry we can probably stay here for another eight to ten years if we play our cards right. For now, we can continue on with solving murders and running after killers." Henry nudged her shoulder, trying to cheer her up.

"What do you mean 'we'?" Jo asked, lifting her eyebrow quizzically.

"We immortals need to stick together. Now I can see you worrying, don't because right now we are staying here." Henry looked at her intensely, searching her eyes for her reaction. Hopefully not a meltdown...but...She couldn't die anymore for goodness sake!

"Oh my god! No, no, no...I'm immortal!" Henry's hope flew out the window. Jo looked frenzied, it was like her brain finally started processing what was happening to her. "And I'm naked!" She broke down and became highly emotional for the second time in her life. The first was right after her husband died. Just this time she wasn't feeling sad, she was experiencing a large amount of shock.

Henry knew exactly what to do, the woman in front of him needed comfort and kind words...and clothes.

"From all that you've succumbed today, you are staying here for a while. Abe wouldn't mind. Now detective let's go and find you some clothes. Then sleep, you deserve it and it is three in the morning." He said, bringing her upstairs.

"I think that's probably a good idea. This blanket is not as soft as it looks." She joked, but with a strained voice.

The M.E wasn't used to taking care of Jo, it was usually the other way round. Jo would be the one with the gun, making Henry stay behind her to protect him from imminent danger. She could use a gun; Henry only jumped in front of them. She had combat police training; Henry...didn't. He was usually always the one being protected and taken care of. But not tonight. Tonight he was taking care of her.

...

Henry gave Jo a pair of his pyjamas (they were too big for her, but it was better than nothing), and also his comfortable bed, telling her that he will be fine on the couch. Surprisingly, the woman didn't object.

"I'll get some of your clothes in the morning. Goodnight Jo, try to sleep." Henry told her, turning to exit his bedroom, but Jo―who was sitting on the bed―halted him.

"Did I say anything...weird?" Jo questioned, slight nervousness present in her voice.

"Whatever do you mean detective?"

"I don't exactly remember everything that happened in the warehouse. Of course after I had been shot that is. I remember bits and pieces, but nothing with sound and words attached to it." Jo explained. Henry pondered remembering one key phrase she had told him, but did not know whether to say it. "Henry? Are you even listening?" Jo snapped his deep wondering thoughts.

"Yes, yes I'm listening. No, you didn't say anything unusual, and getting a bit of amnesia is normal in these types of conditions. Extreme blood loss can do that to a fellow. Henry didn't add also the dying part. He decided to leave it out, for emotional balance on Jo's part.

"Good, good." Jo responded, yawning and then affecting Henry with it.

"I guess I should go." Henry remarked, heading out the half open door.

"Thanks―for everything." Jo said, getting under the covers, but keeping the lamp flickering.

"I don't...You welcome." Henry answered, changing his response mid-sentence. He couldn't keep beating himself down. Instead he would think of all the good times that he could...would have with another immortal around. Closing the door, he headed to the couch, adding a pillow and a thick blanket. Laying down his head on the plump cushion, he thought about what he hadn't told her. The rather small hinted confession. He wanted, but at the same time didn't want to get into a _complicated_ relationship with his friend. If it wouldn't work out, then how would they supposed to go back to being just friends? Then they would go their separate ways, living a lonely life forever. He didn't want that to happen. Also, whatever close romantic feelings he had for his partner, he wasn't sure anymore if it was only because she was now the only person he could ever be with...that would work out. Frustration filled his mind, making him punch the side of the couch. He had to leave it be, to see where the wind blows. For now, he wanted to be neutral; friend zoned. Nothing of the above, but nothing under either. For now...everything was best to be kept the way it was.

...

It had been two weeks since the _incident_ and the now two immortals went back to work, everything going back to normal...mostly. Of course, the couple spent evenings―that stretched into nights―talking about Henry's long complicated life. Henry enjoyed telling everything to someone and Jo found his many experiences amusing. They hadn't worked on any homicide cases yet. Killers, it seemed, were taking a two week vacation.

It was early Monday morning, around five A.M and Jo slept soundly in her bed. Her new gun, phone and badge lay on her bedside table. It had been a difficult task for Jo; trying to find a reasonable plausible story on how she lost all three of her things at the same time. She stated a robber stole them and as she was in hot pursuit, the thief threw them in the river, not wanting to be caught with the evidence red handed. The only part that didn't really make sense was how the robber had actually been able to steal the objects off her body. She was relieved no one asked any questions. It was surprising since the precinct was the spawning spot for detectives.

Martinez groaned profoundly as her cellphone rang. Without opening her eyes, she searched for her phone on the side table. When found, she picked it up, answering it with a grouchy voice.

"Martinez."

"Detective, we have a case. Bring Doctor Morgan along with you since he will be the head M.E working on it. He's strange, but I know how much of an asset he is. The location is on 5th Avenue, house number 645." Lieutenant Reece said with a commanding voice.

"Yes Sir, on my way." Jo said, already getting dressed.

"Oh, and Martinez. Don't make me regret assigning Doctor Morgan to you. I know how much he likes playing the detective." Reece commanded sternly, then hanging up.

"Hope I don't regret it either." The detective mumbled, rushing out the door, heading for Henry's street.

_"I wonder how this case will turn out...?"_

**_Shakespeare:_ ** _My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man, ... That function is smothered in surmise, And nothing is but what is not._

Chapter 8

A Woman in a Spotless Kitchen

Monday, who enjoys Monday? The first day of the week that starts the early mornings and the late work hours. The twenty-four hour period that everyone wishes for time to roll back to Saturday. Mondays were always the worst, especially if the day started horribly wrong...which was the case for Allison Dale...

There was a knock on the glass, behind it a familiar face. Henry smiled, getting up from where he was playing chess with his son. They had woken up really early since Abe had a shipment of antiques coming in at the break of dawn.

"Henry. We've got a case, let's go." Jo said, staying outside, in a rush to leave. She had an investigation to attend to.

"Good morning to you too Detective." Henry smirked, putting on his jacket. "Couldn't have just called me?" The doctor mused, shutting the door behind him as he bid his son goodbye.

"I came to pick you up personally since it's faster this way. Also, I'm surprised you're awake, it's five thirty in the morning. I was anticipating seeing you all drowsy and in a state of grogginess." Jo had assumed, getting into the car.

"I guess I am unpredictable." Henry replied, sitting in the passenger seat.

"Your actions are defiantly surprising at times, but the word unpredictable doesn't exactly suit you." Jo replied, an entertaining look on her face, enjoying his company.

"Really? Care to elaborate?" Henry asked incredulously, smirking.

"For example, you always dress posh and gentlemanly, always carry a pocket watch, wear a scarf, get to work for 8:35 A.M sharp, on many occasions get yourself into imminent trouble or danger―" The driver listed, counting with her fingers on her free hand (the one not on the steering wheel), stopping at five since Henry shushed her.

"I get your point detective, I did not want that much elaboration, but it seems I am worthy to be called predictable. However, I do not know if that is a complement just yet." Henry pondered.

"It is...mostly." Jo answered, trying to say it the nicest way possible. Half succeeding.

"Now, what is our destination?" The awaiting doctor inquired, wondering what the cause of mortality might be and if it was an accident, medical issue, suicide...or homicide. Too many possible deaths to think of. Almost anything could have been used as a deadly weapon, it only depended on how it was used. Overdose, drowning, blunt force trauma, asphyxiation, poisoning, strangulation, cancers, and many more were the causes of casualty every day. All it took to solve the scattered puzzle was to glue all the pieces together by strategically observing the surroundings and autopsying the body.

The dead always had a story, a reason why, along with clues written hypothetically all over them. Fitting everything together, that's what Henry loved...the mystery. But most of all, it was solving it and letting the dead rest in peace, and the family members accept what they had lost. Being a medical examiner allowed to consult murder cases never got boring and Henry guessed it helped him a lot to remain sane. He was also content that Jo's job had the same advantage. But, she had only became immortal two weeks ago.

The detective answered Henry question. "5th Avenue. House number..." She checked a yellow post-it inside her jean pocket, to make sure. "645. I hear it's quite a nice upper-class neighbourhood. Safe, but I guess not safe enough." Jo shrugged, like she was thinking of another case she had worked on in the past, braking at a traffic light.

"Indeed. Crimes are executed everywhere since everyone has problems they want to keep hidden, especially secrets." Henry added, glancing at the approving detective. They both understood the meaning of secrets. The conversation prevailed, Henry chatting, centering ron his abnormal facts and topics from both his strange and historical area of knowledge; starting from micro parasites in elephant dung and ending at where he was the day John F. Kennedy was shot. Jo barely listened, only nodding a few times.

...

They arrived outside the crime scene. Numerous people went in and out of the condo; police men, photographers and a few forensic scientists waiting for the medical examiner to come and rule the body as a homicide, or not. If so, they would have to dust for fingerprints, analyse the whole apartment for evidence, and bring the body to the Medical Examiner's office.

"Detective Martinez, homicide. Where's the body?" Jo asked a policeman, holding up her badge and heading inside the house.

"In the kitchen ma'am." The cop said, staying in the front of the door, and not letting Henry pass before knowing who he was.

"Doctor Morgan, medical examiner. Now please, I have a body to examine." Henry said showing his I.D. The cop nodded, letting him in.

The condo was spacious and big, having three floors. Cream walls accommodated many pictures of paintings and photos. A few with a woman with short light hazelnut hair alongside a darker haired man.

The duo entered the kitchen which was connected to a small salon that had a two piece couch and a television. The kitchen was stainless steel and a large marble countertop fitted with a stove and dishwasher was placed in the middle of it. The area was spotless...except for the dead woman strewn on the floor.

Henry squatted next to the body, putting some latex gloves on and figuring out how she died. If the victim didn’t have any physical markers of death, he would have to do an autopsy in the lab for more information whether it was a suicide or a homicide.

Martinez went up to the main police officer on the scene. "Who's the victim...Mr.?"

The man shifted through a notepad. "The name's Deputy Hudson. The victim is one Allison Dale. She was found by her husband Anthony Dale. She's...uh...a wedding planner." The man finished.

"That's it?" Jo asked rather annoyed.

"I was waiting to see the cause of death. Don't want to waste my time asking questions if this is just an accident or a suicide." The lazy deputy countered.

"Deputy, this is a murder, so this is Detective Martinez's case from now on." Henry called from the body, telling the cop. Jo went next to the M.E, knowing he was going explain the how.

Henry bent extremely close to the face of the body, smelling inside the dead woman's mouth, people around him had disgusted and uncomfortable faces. That happened a lot with Henry around, Jo seemed used to it by now. "Don't you smell that?" Henry questioned, motioning for his partner to smell. Reluctantly, she sniffed, but at a farther distance. Henry seemed too close with his corpses.

"Don't I smell...burnt almonds?" Jo pondered, not sure. Almonds had a difficult sent to detect.

"Precisely detective. And if I do a toxicology screen, I would find cyanide in her system. Quite a lot of it." Henry said.

"You know she was poisoned by cyanide just by her morning breath?" The deputy inquired, laughing. He did not know how good Henry really was.

"Of course, you can smell bitter or burnt almonds in the mouth if cyanide has been ingested. Also, look at her neck. There are numerous scratches on her neck and her blouse is quite dishevelled which means she had respiratory failure, and lifted her hands to her neck to try and breathe." Henry explained, showing where she would have put her hands.

"I guess this is the murder weapon. Death by poisonous tea." Jo said, picking up an empty blue china teacup from the marble countertop with her gloved hands, then talking to one of the medical assistants. "Bag it and test it."

"But are you sure it's murder? There wasn't any struggle or anything." Jo inquired

"Yes. Cyanide can be deadly in five minutes, and even before that you fall unconscious. Everything shuts down one by one. Allison didn't even have time to fight with her murderer. If she wanted to kill herself why would she have struggled so much?" Henry asked Jo, still believing it was a homicide.

"What about those bruises on her body?" Jo asked, pointing to a few on her arms and legs.

"They were made by the convulsions she had before falling unconscious." Henry answered.

Jo went to one of the crime scene investigators. "Did you find any suicide note? Or anything of importance?"

"No note, but we found a few different finger prints and hairs. We'll get them tested." The woman said, going back to work.

"Thanks." She went back to talking with Henry. "So you sure it's a murder?" Jo asked once again, needing him to be positively sure.

"To be one hundred percent sure, I'll do an autopsy. But, no one would want to kill themselves with cyanide, it's extremely painful, shooting herself in the head would have been a much better option." Henry winked at her. "Trust me."

Jo smirked, understanding what he meant. He then added, "It couldn't have been an accident. Who accidently puts cyanide into their morning tea?"

"No one. I checked the kettle, the water wasn’t hot anymore, so I can tell you that she wasn't killed this morning." Jo told him. "Do you think she was killed in the evening?"

"Can't say yet. I'll have to figure out her body temperature. “Henry answered, going back to his examination.

After ten minutes, he got interrupted. "Doctor Morgan, can we take the body back to the lab?" A man asked.

"Yes, I can do everything else there." He responded, then looking at Jo. "I'll see you later and tell you my findings." He then went with the body to the New York Medical Examiner's office.

Martinez stayed, trying to understand the victim and the reason for the murderer's involvement. She suspected Allison probably knew her killer since the house hadn't been broken into. The door was actually locked. And the murderer already knew his intentions on killing the victim since nobody carried cyanide around with them. She now needed to talk to the husband.

"She had a husband named Anthony. Where is he?" Jo asked one of the uniformed policemen.

"He was really shaken up and said he didn't want to answer any questions yet, so we let him leave and he gave us the address of a friend he was going to stay with. He looked devastated."

"Can you give it to me?" Jo asked taking out a pen and paper and giving it to the officer.

"Sure." The man wrote the address.

"Remember to search thoroughly for evidence. I'm going to go speak with the husband and see if he knows anything." The detective said, walking out of the crime scene and loading the address into the GPS. She wanted to take Henry with her to question the husband, but she knew he had an autopsy to fulfill and it didn't only take half an hour to finish. So, she went to question Anthony Dale by herself.

...

The address was only a few blocks from the Dale's residency. Parking, she went up to the front door and rang the doorbell, waiting patiently. A late thirty-ish dark brown haired man around 5'9 opened up, who looked like the person in the pictures she had noticed at the victim's house.

"I'm a homicide detective with the NYPD. Is there an Anthony Dale here?" The woman asked flashing her badge for the second time that day.

"Um...yeah...that's me." Mr. Dale made a pained face, surly knowing why Martinez was there. "Oh, come in." He opened the door wide, letting the detective inside. "My friend is still at work, so it's just me here. I had the spare key." His voice sounded strained.

"I'm sorry for your loss." Before she could continue the husband bellowed something wavering off topic.

"She didn't kill herself! Alli would never do that to me. We had a happy life!" He balled his fists tight, sitting down on the sofa.

"I never indicated she did Mr. Dale." Jo said with a calm voice.

"Please, call me Tony." Anthony sighed, breathing slower.

"We don’t need to do this now if you need more time, but can you tell me what happened? When was the last time you saw your wife?" Jo sat down next to him, all ears.

Tony ran his hand through his hair, depressed. "Last night, I saw her last night." He paused for a moment trying to continue. "I came home from work, we ate dinner together. I...decided to go for a jog around eight since I like to stay in shape. I'm a gym teacher."

"Didn't you come home yesterday night? How could you have not seen her after that?" Jo inquired. He couldn't have slept through his wife being poisoned by a killer.

"Wait, there's more. On my way home, I get a call from my pal Johnny, asking if I wanted to hang out. I said yes, so I came here, staying till four thirty in the morning." Mr. Dale tapped the couch, strained voice never leaving his vocal cords.

"You were there all night, came home and found your wife. Didn't you call her? Tell her where you were?" Jo asked, trying to answer all her unanswered questions.

"No I didn't. Must have forgot." Mr. Dale stated loudly, putting his guard up; a sure sign that he was hiding something. Jo let it go, knowing she couldn't get anywhere if she were to make him angry. Jo hated it when people lied to her.

"Sure." She responded, showing small signs of sarcasm, which the husband didn't pick up on.

"Tony, I have to ask you this, but do you know anyone who would have wanted to kill your wife? Maybe a co-worker or an ex-boyfriend?" Jo waited, letting the husband ponder for a moment. In his state, she knew it was hard for him to think.

"No, absolutely not. Everybody loved her. She was nice to everyone." Tony shook his head. "We've been married twelve years, I know my wife. But she's dead anyway." He slumped his shoulders, putting his face into his palms.

"Thank you. That's all for now. I recommend you not to leave town, and I'm going to have to speak with your friend...Johnny is it?" Jo spoke, getting up from the seat.

"Yeah. Johnny Milano, I'll give you his number." He gave the detective a piece of paper. Before giving it he added. "Just to put it out in the open. I did not kill my wife, because I know you see me as a suspect." He menaced, but didn't offend Jo in any way.

"I'll keep that in mind Mr. Dale. As I said, don't leave town." She replied with also an intimidating tone, giving her the last word.

She strode into the quiet street, ready to go back to the precinct and write her findings down somewhere observable (on a white board), but her phone rang indicating that it was Henry.

"Doctor Morgan, find anything?" She said with a playful tone.

"When have I not? There are a few things extra I have found for you since I have finished a complete autopsy on the victim." The Englishman said with a proud tone.

"I'll be there in ten." She ended the call, heading directly to the place that stored many overly chilled corpses.

What Henry had found was probably useful and positively linking the victim to a murderous affiliation.

**_Unknown author:_ ** _One way to be born, a hundred to die._

Chapter 9

War and Insanity

**_*Flashback: World War I, Early September 1917, London*_ **

_Doctor Henry Morgan ran inside a half-collapsed warehouse that had just been bombed by German aeroplanes. Being a student of medicine, he had a duty to seek out any survivors and treat them; if there was going to be any people still alive. There was a slight probability since the bomb landed next to the building and not right on top of it. However, it was still in a very close proximity to the blast area. People could perhaps survive, unless they were squashed under many tons of fallen debris. But, the percentage of survival was lower than twenty percent._

_With his old black leather medical bag, the immortal searched through the narrow pathways, trying to see and hear any movements or sounds. He saw blood leaking from under a large steel beam. He could only see a severed hand next to it that had been chopped off accidently. Whoever was stuck under it was positively deceased. Henry wore a pained visage; the hand was small, that of a child. Why did children have to suffer the consequence of an adult war?_

_He/she wouldn't get to live through life. Children were too sincere and modest. For the Londoner, those getting killed made him want to live less and less. Like a part of his soul withered away inside him piece by piece, shrivelling into dust. Little kids were never supposed to have a life of fear and death. They needed to be protected and cared for, but the never-ending depressing and dangerous war was bending the rules immoderately. Henry couldn't wait for the war to be over, hoping not to have another one for at least a century._

_This year, the civilians had been accustomed to numerous air raids from the Germans, already killing over one hundred people and injuring many more. The hospitals were getting packed and running out of staff. Even he was receiving too many sick people to treat. Thinking of children, he remembered the terrible bombing in June, in Upper North Street School, killing over sixteen kids. The Londoners were outraged, anger along with fear swelling up in their hearts towards the Germans. If vengeance stayed with the population, the war would never come to an end, only more bloodshed and loss. All Henry knew was that war represented a failure of diplomacy, greed taking its throne._

_He came across more mutilated and mangled bodies, too gruesome to look at, but Henry was half used to it since nobody could be fully unaffected by seeing blood covered corpses touched by death’s hand. The victim's wore ghostly pale open eyed masks, fear seared into their expressions. Like a shadow of themselves stayed forever imprinted on their faces._

_The warehouse was a small printing factory that had minimised its workers since they were needed to build military weapons or subscribe into the army. A few corpses lay on the ground, pierced by ragged pieces of metal deriving from a few of the printing machines that had been torn to pieces from the blast. They were mostly all women. Replacing the men, their husbands, who were forced to serve their country._

_Right before thinking that all hope was lost; that no one came through alive, Henry heard a plea for help. It was faint but audible. It was defiantly the voice of a grown man, and groaning meant he was in pain. A doctor was needed, and Henry was just the right person for the task at hand. All he had to do was figure out where the cry was emanating from, before another body was deprived of its living soul._

_Henry searched frantically, praying he would find the man in time, his bag ready to open and use. He heard the sound again, coming from the main work section. Then Henry saw a leg, which moved and right afterwards, the rest of the body. The scruffy looking middle-aged man looked fine...except his left arm being held under a large block of fallen concrete, hanging on the rest of his body by a hair. No wonder the man was pleading for help, he was surly in abundant agonizing pain._

_"Sir, I'm a doctor and I will get you free. For now, I recommend you not to move." Henry said, rushing up next to the man and settling his medical bag on the ground._

_"Does liberty mean the loss of my arm?" The man gasped for air, trying to hold his pain inwardly._

_"Unfortunately...yes. I won't tell you that it won't hurt since I have no drugs or alcohol to ease the pain." Henry confessed, taking out a medical saw and a wooden stick. "Here put this in your mouth, and clench down. I assure you, it will help." He went to input the stick in the man's mouth, but he didn't accept it since he wanted to say something._

_"There is a flask of whiskey in my coat pocket. You know, it was to put the edge off this meaningless war." The man joked, trying not think about the blunt saw in Henry's hands._

_Carefully and with a swift hand movement, Henry took out the silver flask gently out of the blood soaked inward pocket. Whilst he opened the lid, the man spoke up again._

_"Take a few swigs mate, it looks like you also need some. Then I'll drink the rest to ease my pain and for what is to come." He pushed._

_Henry was greatly perplexed. The man didn't seem to mind taking his time. It was like he didn't have a care in the world, which was odd since he was losing blood and his whole arm was about to be completely severed. He'd rather his doctor have the whiskey first, and him second. It was severely illogical and idiotic. Perhaps the blood loss was the cause._

_Henry didn't think twice about declining the offer, his patients always came first before his own well-being. It made perfect sense since his life could never be in danger; he could not die. Although, he never wanted others finding out his secret. That was something he feared much more than his curse._

_"I decline tremendously. You need it. I am perfectly fine without any alcohol in my system." Henry responded, shaking his head, but the man wouldn't listen and kept persisting, getting quite intense. Henry wasn't sure why._

_"Come―on, I won't take it before you do. I don't want your hands shaking while you're chopping my arm off." He commented stubbornly with a hint of persuasion. After a minute of pushing, Henry had no choice but to give in. He needed to amputate, if not, the man would perish from the lack of blood circulating in his system._

_"Alright, but please I need you to drink the rest right after. There is no time to chat." Henry said hurriedly, taking two swigs of strong (cheap) whiskey, and then put the flask up to the patient's lips, letting him imbibe as well._

_Henry wanted to start the amputation, but the man objected, not letting him. It was like the man wanted to die. He then started speaking, disillusioned. It was during that moment that Henry figured out the man was not in his right mind, nor his left. "We're going to die you know. If I hadn't done something about it, the war would have killed us off soon enough." He continued, getting angry, raising his voice. "I was a soldier, but they threw me out! Said that **I** had gone mad! I am not MAD! Just the same as everyone else!" He sneered, then sounded sad, groaning. "So many deaths. I am going to save you...from seeing more deaths." The last part he whispered, like he thought they were being watched. Derangement was illuminated on his face, especially in the eyes. Unfortunately, that was what war did to too many souls; insanity. It was therapeutically called posttraumatic stress disorder. _

_"What do you mean save me?" Henry became instantaneously nervous, knowing something bad was bound to happen, like always. Then he felt it; the pain and vertigo. He could see the man feeling it also, but with a pleasant smile drawn on his face. "What did you do? *urg!*" A splitting headache and nausea appeared. The man was in no condition to answer Henry's question, since he had the same diagnosis than the immortal; cyanide poisoning._

_Henry knew he could do nothing. He collapsed on the ground, vomiting and seizing. His skin colour had changed drastically; pink to cherry red. Only suffering passed through his brain, it hurt too much to think. In the meantime the cyanide (that was attaching itself to the hemoglobin in his blood) started shutting down his oxygen supply. His chest burned, he was being asphyxiated. He then fell unconscious, eyes shutting._

_His heart muscles began to die...then his heart stopped beating. He died, disappearing. The other man was dead―he never knew his name―his body growing cold. At least his secret was still safe...but at what cost? Henry knew he needed to go back to the place he died, he left his medical bag on the floor. He couldn't have any evidence linking him there..._

_..._

**_*The Present: 2015, New York City*_ **

"Doc? Earth to Doctor Morgan?" The voice of his assistant pulled Henry out from his flashback. The talk of cyanide poisoning brought back a memory, along with a dreadful experience. He didn't drink another man's cheap whiskey ever again. Not that he possessed any cheap whiskey himself.

Henry snapped back to the present, sitting on his chair in his office. He had phoned Jo, telling her that he had completed the autopsy and was waiting for her, until he took a stroll down memory lane. His eyes sped to Lucas, who was leaning on the door frame to his office, calling for his attention.

"Pardon me, what were you saying?" Henry asked, finally focusing on the assistant calling his name.

"Detective Martinez is here about the findings from the poisoned victim. Said you called her." Lucas remarked, pointing over to where Jo was standing (next to the stainless steel table that accommodated Allison Dale's covered body).

"Indeed, thank you Lucas." Henry clasped his hands together, heading towards Jo. He had some medical explaining to do.

"Hello again Jo." Henry greeted, positioning himself on the other end of the table.

"I just spoke with the grieving husband with an alibi. Of what he told me, she couldn't have killed herself since she had a good life and she couldn't have been murdered since everybody loved her." Jo sighed.

"Yes, but murder is the answer. Her toxicology screen came back positive for cyanide, and quite a high concentration of it." Henry said, picking up the autopsy report. "The killer sure wanted her dead."

"Have you speculated at what time the vic died?" Jo asked, listening intensively.

"I have. She died between nine and eleven in the evening." Henry responded. "How come the husband didn't find her until early in the morning?" Henry added, wanting to know what the husband had said.

"He implied that he was with a friend until the wee hours of the day." Jo responded, sounding like she believed the husband was keeping something important to himself.

"Does _friend_ mean a female?" Henry insinuated, raising an eyebrow.

"Actually no. He was hanging out with his best _guy_ friend. Probably chugging down a few beers, playing poker, discussing sports. Whatever grown men do." She told him, laughing.

Henry feigned hurt. "Is that what you think all men do with each other? Drink alcohol and argue about sports?"

"Most of them, but there are a few exceptions. Like you." Jo smirked. She then added, converting back to her police self. "So, is there anything else you found? Like any DNA from the killer on the body?"

"No. The killer cleaned up after him, wore gloves, or didn't actually touch her." Henry explained. "But, I did find skin particles under her nails, but they were from her husband. Maybe she scratched him, but it might have been accidental. Apart from that, I found nothing else of importance and the DNA found in Allison's house haven't been tested yet."

"I guess we'll have to go question the husband again. But first, I want to see Johnny, the only person who can back up his alibi." Jo remarked, heading towards the exit, leaving Henry standing alone.

"Coming?" She asked, turning around.

"Right behind you detective." Henry answered, taking his white lab coat off. "Where does this Johnny live?"

"He's presently at work, I found out he owns an expensive Italian pizza joint." Jo answered.

"Well detective, let's find out if he has any secrets he is willing to share with us."

...

Jo opened the restaurant's door, getting a whiff of fresh oven-baked pizza. A cheery hostess walked up to them, thinking they were customers. "Welcome to Milano's, how are we today? Table for two?" She said, picking up two menus.

"I need to speak with the owner, NYPD" Jo flashed her badge.

With wide eyes the woman glanced at Henry. "Are you a cop too?"

"No only the medical examiner."

That's when the woman started to panic. "Did someone die? Is there a murderer on the loose?"

"Calm down, it's nothing that involves you. Now, we need to speak with your boss." Jo tried to say gently, not wanting to be the center of attention. Homicides were best to keep on a down low. If not, it created unneeded havoc and fear.

"Sure. He...He's in his private office, in the back." The lady pointed to a door, close to the pizza furnaces.

"Thank you." Henry responded, giving her one of his gracious smiles.

Jo knocked on the door, waiting for a response.

"I told you not to interrupt me when I am in my office!" A muffled loud gruff voice was heard through the door.

"Mr. Milano. This is Detective Martinez I need to talk to you about Anthony's dead wife." Jo pounded on the door again.

They heard a chair scrape on the ground and the shuffling of feet coming closer and closer. Then the lock on the door unlatched and a stout pudgy man opened up, with a look of discontent upon his face.

"Come in, come in. It's terrible of what happened to Allison. Tony is crushed." He waved the couple in, letting them sit down as he sat awkwardly on his own chair. "Is there anything I can do for you?" He crossed his arms, palms open.

"We need you to confirm Mr. Dale's alibi. Was he really with you all night?" Jo asked, leaning forward.

"Of course, plus we had a good time. I now feel guilty since Alli was dead while we drank bear and played cards." Johnny sighed, twiddling with the golden ring on his right pinky finger.

Jo quickly glanced at Henry with a hint of smugness. She didn't to say _I told you so._ He already knew.

"So you called him at around...what? Eight thirty?" The detective guessed, awaiting his approval.

"What are you talking about?" The man asked, confused. "He called me around nine, saying he had a row with his wife and needed a place to stay and cool down. It didn't seem that bad, but bad enough for him to stay at my place." Johnny responded, getting the facts straight.

"Wait? He called you? Then, what time did he come to your house?" Henry inquired, interest filled his eyes.

"Around nine twenty."

"Well, thank you. I have other ends to tie up." Jo said, sitting up, followed by Henry.

"No problem." The restaurant owner sat up, shaking hands with both people in front of him.

"One more thing, why aren't you consoling your best friend? His wife has just been murdered." Henry asked, pushing a little too hard since the owner got angry. He had the same temperamental attitude as his friend.

"I have a restaurant to run! More importantly, don't judge me of not being a good friend! It's none of your business!" He poked at Henry's chest.

"I apologise for my partner, he can say things he doesn't mean sometimes." Jo apologised, giving Henry an annoyed look.

As the duo walked out the restaurant Jo said, "I guess we are going to need to talk to husband again. He seemed to have lied to me. And because of that he will be questioned at the precinct." She then took out her phone.

"Who are you calling?" Henry asked.

"Hanson, I am going to ask him to go pick Mr. Dale up. He doesn't like me that much. He'll probably come easier with Hanson." She explained, dialing the number. "Hey, I need favour. How would you like to help me with a murder case?”

**_Albert Camus:_ ** _You see, a person of my acquaintance used to divide people into three categories: those who would prefer to have nothing to hide than have to lie, those who would rather lie than have nothing to hide, and finally those who love both lies and secrets._

Chapter 10

Secrets and Lies

A case file smacked down on the table in the interrogation room, making the contents spill, revealing crime scene photos of Allison Dale in her kitchen. Henry stood behind the one sided mirror, never allowed to be in the room, only authorized to listen. Of course, he did like to call Jo during her interrogation telling her things he needed to know about the suspect, even if it annoyed her quite a lot. He watched Jo, who had her intimidation mask on. Which always showed that she took her job seriously.

The quaint room was quiet, still enough to hear a pin drop to the floor. Not that pins were actually falling, but there was a fly buzzing around. Jo walked around the table _―_ where Antony Dale sat _―_ many times. She knew giving the suspect the cold shoulder would put enough doubt and fear in the man to tell her the absolute truth. He was a huge suspect in a homicide investigation for crying out loud, lying even more would only make him guiltier.

Henry picked up on Jo's unique method of getting the truth out in the open, and found that it was working like a charm; Anthony's palms were sweating, nervousness creeping up on him since jail wasn't a safe peaceful place.

At that moment, that's when the detective struck hard. It was all about timing. She slammed her hands on the table, palms resting upon on the crime scene photos, looking right at the nervous man. "You lied to me Mr. Dale." She said nothing else, waiting for the suspect to take the bait, still keeping her tantalizing stare. Cops always needed to have a tough look, if not no one would respect them. Fear was something they sometimes needed to use against criminals. Without it, the world would be much more messed up.

Right on time, the Italian broke down. "Do you know how bad it would have looked? The husband having a fight with his wife and then a few hours later she is murdered!" He yelled, fists clenching up in anger.

"That was a wrong move Mr. Dale. You lied and now you look even more culpable." Jo answered, sounding stern and playing the bad cop.

"I did not murder my wife! Why would I? I love _―_ I _loved_ her!" He contested, starting to stand up.

"I suggest you sit down." Detective Martinez warned, sitting down herself. The man sighed following her lead. "If you are innocent, tell me why you were fighting." Jo commanded, tilting her head and crossing her arms around her bust.

Tony looked down at his shaking hands, fiddling with his wedding ring. Instead of doing the logical thing and answering the detective's simple question, he took the hard route. A more difficult route for Jo that is. "I want my lawyer. I am not answering any more questions without him." He said stubbornly. Some people did not have any common sense. If they were not guilty, why did they always have to make the bothersome lawyer move? It made closing the case longer for nothing.

Henry could see Jo getting impatient, but she camouflaged it easily. "That is not a good idea Mr. Dale. The evidence is pilling against you." She leaned forward menacingly, in a rather low voice.

The man tried to build up his composure, smirking. "And what is this evidence you have obtained?"

"There are your skin particles under the nails of your deceased wife, showing that your fight was either physical or she scratched you when figuring out you had poisoned her. Also, lying to a cop is always looked upon while on trial. And we shouldn't forget not having an alibi for her time of death and being rather defensive while being questioned. Do you think this can be called evidence pilling up? Well, I can." She showed a light smirk, but kept her intimidating visage.

Henry let out a stifling laugh, knowing she had just won this fight. He was going to sing like a bird after that speech, and without his lawyer.

"She had an affair." Anthony said quickly, sighing and rubbing his face, quite depressed. "I had found out a few days ago and decided to confront her."

"Well, there's your motive." Hanson came up next to Henry, watching the suspect.

"I don't think he killed her." Henry responded, not explaining his opinion.

"Why not Sherlock?" Hanson cocked his head toward the Englishman, not convinced. "He just found out his wife was sleeping with another man. What husband wouldn't get angry?"

"If it was a spontaneous murder full of anger, why would he kill her with cyanide? Nobody carries cyanide around with them just in case someday they would want to poison a person." Henry stated, making Hanson feel quite inferior. "Now if you excuse me. I really want to listen to the rest of the inquiry." The immortal went back to focus on the scene in the other room.

"How did you find out? Did you see them together?" Jo inquired. This case was getting interesting. Murder cases usually always had some adultery stuffed in there someplace or another.

"No I found a photo of her...with him." He growled, depositing the discriminating evidence from his trouser pocket onto the table and placing his index finger on the face of the smiling man holding Allison in his arms affectionately.

"You never even saw her talk to him? Perhaps via the phone?" Jo suggested.

"There would have been no chance seeing them together again."

"Why? Because you threatened her not to get close to him?" The detective asked, firm voice.

"Of course not! It's because they severed the affair six years ago!" The man's fists punched the table, losing grasp on his emotions. He then sighed. "She had the affair a long time ago. Why would I kill her? The past is the past." He stared right at her with his pleading eyes, like he wanted her to believe him.

"Fine. Do you know the name of this man?" Jo leaned back into the chair, pointing to the picture laid on the table.

"I didn't see any opportunity to ask."

Jo studied him, continuing. "Before you are free to go, tell me more about the fight you had with your wife." She crossed her arms.

"I was angry with her. Even if it happened six years ago, we still had a big fight. I decided to cool off and leave for a while, but she grabbed onto my arm. That's how my skin went under her nails. Then I left, as I told you before, around eight." He explained.

"Ok. Now explain to me why you took so long to call Johnny. What did you do between then? You were out for an hour and twenty minutes before arriving at his house." She commented, waiting for a response, relieved the man changed his mind about gaining a lawyer. She hated them, all cops did.

Anthony seemed to get impatient. Being interrogated for over an hour and staying in the police station for over two was enough to put a man over the edge. It didn't help that he found himself repeating the same things quite a lot. "I ran till eight-thirty in Central Park, then sat on a bench for twenty minutes, wondering how I was supposed to calm the waters between me and my wife. At nine I phoned Johnny and then walked to his house since I forgot my wallet at home and didn't have any money for a taxi. It took twenty minutes, and voilà! I arrived at nine twenty." He threw his hands into the air, signaling he was finished.

Jo looked over at the one-way glass, somehow waiting to be done. It seemed she needed to make sure that her phone was not about to ring; from a certain immortal. No taps on the glass or ringing in her ears meant the liberty to end. So she did.

"Thank you for your time Mr. Dale." She said, as the man got up.

She then stopped him. "And next time, don't lie during a murder investigation."

"After this experience, I won't. Please find justice for my wife, and put the psychotic person who killed her in jail."

"I assure you Mr. Dale, I always find the truth." She then picked up the photo. "I'll be holding on to this." And she left, leaving the door open behind her. She entered the listening room next door, walking next to the detective and the medical examiner, crossing her arms in deep thought. "I don't think he killed her."

Hanson let out a groan. "You too? Come on, people have killed for less."

"But not this guy." Henry butted into the conversation.

"Wasn't it you, Detective Martinez, who believed that murder is usually never complicated and is normally the first guy to be suspected?" Hanson asked, seeing some change brewing inside his co-worker that started when Henry came into their lives.

"Yes, and I still do. But, killers who don't want to get caught never make it simple for us to solve. And my intuition tells me the husband is not the culprit. Anyway, we now have another suspect that can go on our list. Hanson, could you give me a name to go along with this face?" She handed him the photo.

"I'll get right on it." He walked out of the room, starting his search for the John Doe’s identity.

"We should have lunch." Henry spoke up, saying something off topic. Facing her.

"What? I don't have time right now. We need to catch a cyanide poisoner and we have to go to Allison's work. We might find something useful." Jo argued, too preoccupied with her work, thinking she should never take a break during her police investigations.

"As your friend, I command you since it's after twelve and you didn't even eat breakfast." He commented, looking out for her. Jo was about to object, but Henry didn't let her. "Let's go, we have to wait for Hanson to ID the man anyway and the fingerprints from the crime scene are still being processed. I know this really good traditional Chinese place not far from here. The fortune cookies are never true, but the food is exquisite."

Jo bit her lip, contemplating whether to accept this endearing proposal. She gave in when her partner told her that he would pay for the both of them. She did need to eat, and Chinese was her favorite cuisine. "Fine, but if Hanson or the forensics lab calls _―"_

"We will leave in a hurry to investigate." He finished her sentence, pushing her out of the premises.

...

The restaurant was a quaint little place, but still had a family orientated atmosphere. It was strangely situated under a brick house in the basement. It was not very pleasing to the eyes, but the food was traditionally great and they had many regulars to prove it. Right after entering, the two customers were showered with kindness and hospitality from the cheery owner who only spoke a bit of English and was hard to understand. However, Henry soon solved that. He conversed with the old woman in her language, making the woman look pleased, showing both her rows of yellow teeth. It seemed _―_ for her _―_ a toothbrush was overrated.

"You look lovely today Miss Cho, my usual place." Henry transferred back to English, so that Jo could comprehend once again.

"Mr. Morgan, of course! This way." Mrs. Cho spoke with a strong accent, directing the duo to a table for two. "No Abe?" She then asked.

"Not today, I brought someone else." He glanced at Jo who started to sit on one of the wooden chairs.

"Ohhhh! Beautiful girl! Nice face!" The old lady in the red kimono cried, clapping her hands together. "Get food now." She simply implied, hurrying away to a young Chinese man, screaming and giving orders in her dialect. It seemed she had completely altered her personality. Warm kind old lady to a commanding tuff one. Jo enjoyed her second persona, probably her real one.

"Well, she was nice. It looks like Mrs. Cho really enjoys your company." She joked, glancing at the old lady who was keep staring at her partner. "It must be the British accent." She smirked.

Henry also glanced at the waving lady, then looked back at Jo. "She only likes me because I usually bring Abe with me. Didn't you notice how her face fell when I said that Abe was not with me today?" Henry had observed.

"Nice observation. So, how long have you been coming here...with your son?" She asked, fiddling with her phone.

"Around two years." He responded, noticing how she kept her phone on the table and really close to her too, like it was her gun. She really couldn't take her mind off her job for one minute. Even being immortal could not do that. "The case will not fall apart just because the famous Jo Martinez is having lunch with a friend for half an hour." He reassured her.

"Well, it's better being safe than sorry." She put away her phone in her pocket since Henry seemed annoyed by her constant peering at the cellular device. "Aren't we suppose to order?" She asked, picking up a menu.

"This is why I love eating here. Mrs. Cho has a gift. Just by looking at you, she can guess the best dish for you, and she hasn't been wrong yet." Henry smirked, enjoying their little small talk. It was different; not chatting about murder nor immortality.

"I wonder what she will bring me then." She said, sounding intrigued.

"You'll know now, our food is coming." He saw a waiter placing two platters in front of them. One for him and the other for Jo. He watched her take the first bite, smirking as he saw her face soften as she took another bite.

"Mmm…This is good. Kung Pao chicken, my favorite. You're right, she does have a gift. What did you get?" She asked, stuffing more food in her mouth (as much as she could pick up with chopsticks).

"I have Chow Mein, but it varies every time I come here. She says my pallet is always changing." He shrugged, using his chopsticks with ease, which peaked some interest in Jo.

"I guess you've been to China? The way you're using those chopsticks and how you spoke Chinese seems to show it." She pointed out, swallowing her food.

"Yes, many times. Beautiful place. If you ever go, I'll gladly be your tour guide." He offered.

"I guess I'll go one day. I mean I have a lot of time on my hands." She remarked, knowing only Henry would understand her half serious half witty comment.

"Do you feel scared, being in this situation so suddenly?" Henry asked, knowing she understood what he was asking, changing the mood drastically. His face full of sincerity.

"Did you?" She responded with a question, placing her utensils on the table mat. Their conversation was more important than food.

"In the beginning, I was terrified. Looking for answers where there was none. Even now, I get scared. Not knowing what could happen in the near future. But, you know what I have realised, living all these years? I am not scared about what the future might hold for me, but for humanity. I have seen wars, famine, murders and terrible disasters. I just never know what might happen next. That my friend, is not what I want you to feel...alone. You are lucky to have as many answers, because when I was reborn, I didn't have a single one." He patted her hand, as a sign of comfort. Not exactly sure if it was helping more her than him.

"After that speech, I don't think I have the right to be scared." She laughed. "I do worry sometimes, but I can't change what happened. When Sean died, I always thought _what if_. What if I saved him? What if he survived? But, working with you all this time made me realise that the past is the past, it's the present we have to live in and the future we have to look out for." She smiled, enjoying this heart to heart talk, and went back to eating.

"Well said detective. Couldn't have explained it better myself." He told her. "Now, about this murder..."

"HA! I thought you didn't want to talk about it while we were here." Jo realised.

"Now, now. We both know you are dying to talk about it too. If I hadn't said anything, you certainly would have." Henry commented, making a point. She did want to go over everything. Get the evidence right and place everything so it would fit perfectly, and the thing that wouldn't fit would be the anomaly. The anomaly defining the error that the killer made. In every murder investigation, the murderer always slips up some way or another. Humans can never perform tasks perfectly. She only had to find the imperfection, and then everything would fall into place.

"If the husband didn't do it, then who did?" Henry mumbled, in deep thought.

"There could be a chance our mystery guy killed her. Or what about the pizzeria owner, Johnny Milano?" Jo recommended, also pondering hard.

"What's her job again?" Henry asked, slowly masticating his food.

"Wedding planner. She works in a little bridal shop close to Times Square." She answered.

"Maybe one of her co-workers killed her." The Englishman mused, posing his hand on his chin.

"We can go and ask some questions before closing time. Maybe the killer will hand him or herself over on a silver platter." Jo spoke, rather liking that idea of less work to do. Certainly less paperwork. She liked working in the field, at a desk was another story to say the least.

"That's a rather strange way of putting it _―_ " The man was cut short when he heard a phone ring; Jo's phone. He listened as Jo responded, only saying a few casual words. When she put it back in her pocket, she stood up, ready to leave.

"Was it Hanson?" He asked, placing some money on the table, not forgetting to tip generously. "That was fast."

"No, it was Lucas. He analysed the fingerprint evidence found in the victim's house. Listen to this, he found four different people. The husband and wife, an unidentified print and the results of one Angelica Roswell." She said, satisfied of what the lab had found.

"Do you mean the daughter of Mike Roswell, founder and billionaire of Roswell Oil Incorporated?" Henry asked, shocked but intrigued. He had heard many stories about that company. Some said Mr. Roswell was corrupt, but others were willing to swear that he was a kind middle aged man, who donated millions to charities.

"Yeah, we had her prints because she was arrested at sixteen for drinking while driving." She explained. "But, I don't understand how she is connected to the victim."

"I may be able to shine a light on that matter. Abe reads the newspaper a lot you see, and he sometimes reads out loud. I remember him clearly reading that Miss Roswell is engaged, soon to be married." He said, waving farewell to the owner and opening the front door like a gentleman.

"Now there is the connection. Why don't we go and see how the plans for the wedding is going? She might have to postpone her big day, since murder had entered the picture..."

**_Tertullian:_ ** _Indeed it is better to postpone, lest either we complete too little by hurrying, or wander too long in completing it._

Chapter 11

My Big Fat Postponed Wedding 

Weddings were sometimes a nightmare, depending on who the bride was and if the family was rich or if the bride was spoiled rotten when she was a child. Then, that's when 'The Big Day' could get stressful, for everyone. Especially for the two people getting married. It all becomes too much; the cake, the floral decorations, the catering, the bride’s maids dresses, the fancy ice sculptures, finding the right music, the invitations, picking the wedding dress, finding a location to have the ceremony...Without help, every wedding would become postponed, cancelled, or elopement was another option.

That's what wedding planners were for. To help everyone through all the transitions and make everything go as planned. Of course, Angelica Roswell had a wedding planner since she wanted a huge _expensive_ wedding, with hundreds of guests she barely knew. Most of them were her father's friends or more like his _business deals_. The blond haired woman was indeed getting frustrated since her wedding planner hadn't come to see her about picking the perfect kinds of flowers. She was almost going hysterical when she couldn't even get her on the phone. That's when she went to see her daddy; the only person who gave her everything, but also solved her every dilemma without his daughter needing to. Although, this time, his ways couldn't work...unless he had the power of bringing a certain woman back from the dead.

Mr. Mike Roswell sat at his desk in his large office. Famous paintings hung from the walls and an assortment of antique guns filled two beautifully carved cabinets. Just by entering his office, one could know straight away that he was obscenely rich. He made grown men jealous and women wanted to marry him for his money. However, the billionaire never got re-married since the death of his wife twenty years ago. He took it upon himself never to make his daughter ever feel sad ever again; so he spoiled her rotten. Angelica was only four at the time of her mother's passing, but she still made her father guilty. Making him believe she was sad and scarred because of it, and then got what she wanted. She had quite a bratty heart, but she almost never showed it on the outside.

Mr. Roswell could hear loud clicking sounds coming closer _―_ that of dangerously high stilettos, the ones that could easily break a woman's ankle if she wasn’t properly trained in the arts of ‘high-heeled’ walking. The man lit a cigar, awaiting his daughter's flamboyant entrance.

"Daddy! My wedding is ruined!" The young woman whined like a six year old, pulling down her short skirt―that stuck perfectly to her body―because it lifted up whilst she had been speed-walking.

"What's wrong Pumpkin?" Mr. Roswell grunted, keeping the fat cigar in his mouth and still signing a stack of documents.

"My stupid wedding planner isn't picking up her phone. Do something Daddy!" She stomped her foot, not at all acting her age, but she only performed like that in front of her father. The rest of the world thought she was a sophisticated adult with a southern accent and a beautiful face.

"Calm down Sugar Pie...I'll fix everything." He reassured her, picking up the green phone laying on his desk. As he was punching in numbers, the butler came into his office right after knocking.

"There is a detective at the door sir." The butler said, back perfectly straight, nose in the air, wearing a three piece suit.

"Why the damn would they want to speak with me?" The billionaire grumbled.

"They don't sir." The butler answered, no emotion displayed on his face.

"Then what the heck are they doing on my porch?” Mr. Roswell spoke up a little louder, slamming his phone down. He had a hard time keeping his temper on the down low. Everyone, including the help, just grinned and bared it. He was the boss, what could they do?

"They need to speak to Miss Roswell." The butler glanced at Angelica.

"My angel definitely didn't do anything. I'm calling our lawyer, we'll sue them." He sat up, heading to the front of the large house.

"Your daughter is not in trouble" A voice called out from the arch of his office door. It was Jo, followed by Henry. Of course, the man didn't know their names. "We just need to ask her a few questions about Allison Dale." Jo stepped inside the room, letting her badge inform him of her occupation without saying a word.

"What did she do? I will not postpone my wedding! She's not arrested is she? She's too kind and my wedding planner." The bride-to-be started to look panic stricken, fanning her face with her hand. Henry raised his eyebrows, not sure if she was feeling bad for Allison or herself.

"She was found dead this morning in her kitchen. From cyanide poisoning." Jo answered, not knowing what reactions will surface whilst Henry walked gradually to the displayed antique guns, impressed with the rarities. Abraham would love to inspect these beauties, he thought. "So, postponing the wedding should be a good idea." The detective added.

"Look Detective, my daughter will have her perfect wedding on the perfect already set day. So instead of snooping around and asking questions, why don't we figure out a deal? Maybe some compensation for the hard work you police people do every day for humanity and in exchange putting our connection with the victim on the bottom of the evidence pile." Mr. Roswell said, trying to sound inconspicuous and below the radar. One part of the gossip about the Roswell family was right; corruption was indeed imbedded inside their house’s walls. However, Jo did not like being bribed. It offended her the number of individuals who thought bribing a cop was a good move. There were many dirty cops, but plenty were clean as a slate. They were in the force to serve, not to be served.

"Trying to bribe a police officer is breaking the law. I could arrest you for that." Jo threatened, not caring how high his social stature was throughout the United-States’ oil companies. To her, a criminal was a criminal. Whatever clothes they were wearing never changed who they really truly were. Jo had the gift of rummaging through the lives of persons of interest and finding the truth. Her talent would make her grow in the ranks easily, but being immortal rather changed that. Bummer, being a chief would be something she could have been good at. But, they usually found older people with many years of experience. She would undeniably possess the years, but never be allowed to prove it since she was never going to age a day ever again. Little white hairs would never see the light of day on her brunette head.

Mike let out a sturdy amused laugh, pleased with Jo's attitude. "I like you. Tough, a rare characteristic in a woman." He sighed. "It was worth a shot I suppose. I, Mike Roswell, getting arrested would have never stood in a court of justice. But of course, you already know that." The old man said, a twinkle in his eye, showing his vast intelligence accompanied by his conniving attitude.

Jo ignored the man's remark, going back to the reason she was there. "You don't have to postpone your wedding, but we will have to talk to your daughter since she was in Allison's apartment sometime or another." She then turned to Angelica and started to talk to her. "So, you must have known her at some level."

"She was only my wedding planner. I don't know anything about her. Edgar, my fiancée, and I only went to her house once to look over the seating arrangements. We were only there for twenty minutes." Tears formed in her eyes, but not enough to ruin her eye makeup. "I need to call my fiancée."

"You do that." Jo replied as Angelica ran out the door, cell phone already to her ear.

...

They sat in one of the many living rooms. The persons included Jo, Henry, Angelica and Edgar. The father almost raged when Jo told him that she needed the couple alone for a dozen minutes. Luckily, the groom cooled the old man's temper. It seemed he was the most clear-headed one in the group.

"I can't believe our wedding planner is dead. We just saw her yesterday." Edgar Adamms shook his head, shocked.

"What, may I ask, was the exact time you saw her?" Jo questioned, back pressed to the comfy cream fabric couch.

"Around one in the afternoon, and as I said before, we were looking over the seating arrangements." Angelica butted in, looking miserable since she didn't want to postpone her wedding. She had always wanted to be beautiful bride along with getting a perfect wedding. Her planner being murdered was one of the worst things that could to happen to a woman.

"I am obliged to ask both of you. Where were you both yesterday between nine to eleven PM?" She asked, cupping her hands together.

"That's when she died, wasn't it?" Edgar asked, grabbing onto his fiancée's hand to comfort her, showing her that everything was going to work out.

"Yes. Now please answer my question. I need both of you to answer one at a time." Jo explained as she took out a notebook just in case there was anything impertinent.

"I was here. My father, the butler and the three maids can tell you that I am not lying." Angelica commenced, getting annoyed that she was actually being interrogated.

"I was at one of the many clubs I own. It's a new one that I just opened. The Vibrant Tiger." Edgar explained, sounding rather proud of himself.

"Yes, Mr. Adamms has many splendid clubs, he's done well for himself despite only being twenty-four years of age." Henry continued. "It must be an honour, showing people that even young adults can run large successful companies from the ground up without any aid from elders." He complimented him, getting on the groom's good side.

"Yes I am proud of my accomplishments. You should come and visit one of my clubs, my DJ's are excellent." He offered, crossing his legs on the couch and smoothing down his pants.

"Maybe some other time." Henry responded.

"Exactly because right now we have a job to do." Jo said abruptly, aggravated that they were deriving from their primary objective; solving a murder. "Did you ever see Allison look distressed or talking with someone she looked scared of? Anything can help, even the smallest detail."

"She didn't talk to us about her social life. We just hired her to do her job, not to become friends and share secrets." Angelica answered with a faint whine in her voice. Patience was not one of her attributes.

Henry could see this was getting nowhere. It seemed the couple didn't know anything. The case was getting difficult; they could not find any motive for anyone to kill sweet Allison. It seemed no one had a bad relationship with her. She was one of those people who couldn't be hated.

Out of the blue, Jo's phone buzzed, revealing a text message from Hanson. _"Found the identity of the man in the photo. Duncan Rymes, a banker. He works at National Bank as a manager, whenever you want to talk to him. However, the bank closes at five, so you will have to go tomorrow. I still haven't found out how he and the victim met and started having the affair. I'll dig around some more. I'll text you if anything pertinent comes up."_ Jo lifted her eyebrows, it was rare for someone to text without using any emoticons or abbreviations. She liked it; easier to comprehend. Jo looked at her watch; four seventeen. Time flew by when there was a murder to solve.

"Have you ever heard of the name Duncan Rymes? Did Allison ever talk about this man?" Jo asked the fidgeting couple on the couch. They both looked at each other, reading if either of them knew something. They both shook their heads.

"No, never heard of him. Is he the murderer?" Edgar asked, voice strong.

"Just a suspect, but we can't rule him out." Henry said. Every day he was becoming more and more a detective. One day he might have to change his job description.

"Can we please leave? Every minute I am sitting here, my…our wedding is falling to pieces. I need to find a new wedding planner! One that can actually do their job, like Allison could." Angelica huffed, distressed.

"You may go, but don't be surprised if we come back to ask a few more questions." Jo responded, sitting up and following Henry out of the large mansion.

They sat in the car, engine running but not yet moving away. "I don't see either of them killing Allison. Where's the motive?" Jo discussed with the Englishman, sighing.

"Indeed. However, Miss Roswell didn't seem too distressed about her wedding planner being murdered. She looked more terrified about her wedding, but I think that was her bratty upbringing what made her that way." Henry concluded, smirking. "I think you should text Hanson and see if he could check Mr. Adamm’s alibi for that evening." He suggested.

"Why? You think he might have done it?" Jo asked, intrigued.

"Not sure, but I have a feeling he's hiding something." Henry mumbled, in deep thought.

"Doesn't everyone?"

"True, but this secret might be connected to Allison."

...

Both partners sat in their own houses, mind haunted with the case they were working on. After chatting for an hour together, they decided to call it a day since they accomplished everything they could. They needed their rest; tomorrow would be another packed day. Tuesday, more secrets would probably be dug out and presented out in the open, for everyone to see.

Night time finally came around and both persons of interest got ready for bed.

As Jo closed her eyes, she had one single thought. _"I will find the murderer, even if it kills me. If it does, I'll still succeed..."_

As Henry shut his tired eyes, he also had one continuous thought that ran through his mind. _"This case is mind boggling, I wonder who did it. Maybe the butler?..."_

**_Oscar Wilde:_ ** _Memory...is the diary that we all carry about with us._

Chapter 12

The Hidden Diary of Memories

It lay untouched and unknown to the world, dust bunnies overwhelming its cover which stayed locked and sealed until found once more. Inside were words, written in ink. Memories of a past life, now gone from the realm of the living. There were secrets in there that would stay hidden...unless someone would find and open it. Then who knows what might be revealed? It waited alone, wanting to be touched and remembered. Now it only had to wait.

The sun rose, its rays shone over the skyscrapers, making the glass windows shimmer like millions of small white diamonds. New York looked beautiful at this early time of day, and the fellow inhabitants were lucky to live there.

Sadly, Jo never had the chance of watching the beautiful sun rise since she was always awake at twilight, before dawn's break. Also, she never looked up at the tall buildings for she was always focused on work and was too busy to stop and consider absorbing in the city's beautiful features.

Now it was different, time was on her hands and was never going to run out. She now had an odd and extremely altered perception of time. She forthwith stopped to admire her surroundings, enjoying it for a second, but then went back to thinking about the cyanide case. Her life was changing...but only slowly and one day at a time. Sure, she was now immortal. Her body knew, but her psyche was another story.

She was grateful that she had Henry throughout this eventful journey of hers, but she still felt alone and confused sometimes. There was still a piece of her heart that was empty and she did not know how to fill it. It was like...something was missing in her life, but she did not have an inkling of what. How strange and lost she felt sometimes and how she longed for it to go away.

Jo opened the police station doors, and waited to meet her partner there—they had made the eleventh precinct their rendezvous point before heading out to have a little heart to heart chat with Duncan Rymes in his large manager’s office. The bank probably contributed a nice hefty salary to their managers, Jo had suspected.

The detective wasn’t at all surprised seeing Henry sitting at her desk with a cup of coffee in hand waiting for her arrival. He had the knack of arriving before the scheduled time. She couldn’t argue; it was better being early than late.

“The early bird gets the worm.” Henry spoke up, spinning the chair so that he was facing her, smirking and taking a sip of his dark roast. He would have preferred tea, but coffee was all there was in a police department.

“And what would be defined as the worm? Because my chair isn’t as comfortable as it looks.” Jo joked, spinning the chair around with Henry still on it.

“No, in this context the worm means information. I got to speak to Hanson before you and he found a few interesting pieces of data about our new suspect.” Henry spoke smugly, laying his elbow on his partner’s desk and placing his hand on his chin, looking directly at Jo. He remained silent.

Jo huffed, annoyance exiting her voice. “Are you going to tell me or keep this knowledge to yourself?” She crossed her arms and tapped her foot which was an unintended reflex.

“We now know how Duncan and Allison are connected. Thanks to Hanson.” Another pause lingered in the air, purposely Jo was thinking.

"Don't try and act funny. Just tell me, with no pauses." Jo said sternly, rolling her eyes.

"Calm down detective. They were childhood friends for a few years from the age of ten to fifteen. Then Allison's family moved away, and the two friends never got to see each other again. Tragic, isn't it?" Henry implied, his poetic side showing.

"Until they reconnected with each other either purposely or accidently." Jo mumbled, setting the new piece of the puzzle with the others involving the murder case in her mind. "The husband said they broke it off six years ago, but did they really?"

"That's a good question." Henry responded, knowing exactly what Jo would say next.

"So let's go get the answer." The woman half lifted, half pushed Henry out of her chair, already getting dizzy from all the turning he was doing with it. "Come on Mr. Tortoise, let’s go to the bank."

"Just to point out, the tortoise actually beat the hare in the end. Going fast sometimes doesn't get the job done properly. You should listen to your elder, I've had more experience at life than you." Henry winked, putting his scarf around his neck and rapping it around once.

"Maybe I should listen, you are very old." Jo said with a hint of enjoyment in her voice as she heard her friend grunt.

"Please, you make me feel old and wrinkly." He raised his hands to his face, like he was checking for wrinkles. He always liked his face and knew himself that he was rather handsome. Being immortal should have a few good quirks, for instance, keeping his face rejuvenated forever. He just hoped his prideful thinking wouldn't ruin anything.

"Come on, jokes aside, we have a job to do"

...

New York's National Bank was situated in the middle of the city, where most of the high skyscrapers were located. Wedged between a large glass-covered attorney’s building and a telephone company was the bank. It was inferior to the two companies next to it regarding its number of floors, but pushing that small detail aside, the bank was surely the richest out of the three. It was evident; it was a bank…people gave them money willingly and numerable people got into debt.

Henry loathed any kind of bank and he had a reasonable motive for feeling this way. Henry was suddenly out of it, staring at the building, but his mind was elsewhere…somewhere in the past.

**_ *FLASHBACK* Summer of 1900 _ ** , ** _Lloyds of London Bank, London_**

_The main hall was empty and hollow, only footsteps of one single person could be heard―Henry Morgan’s. He was just about to finish his shift, but then the manager asked him to lock up and check if the vault was secure. The Englishman’s boss had put a lot of trust in the immortal and Henry was surely going to make his boss proud. When trust was gained, it was best not to lose it._

_Henry wasn’t entirely alone, there was still two security guards present, doing their mandatory rounds before usually shutting themselves up in their little ‘rec room’ for a smoke and for the rest of their nightshift. Henry didn’t like how they did their job, he was going to talk to the boss about that. He knew that would place him in the tattletale section of humanity, but the bank’s safety was more important than his social status. Besides, he wasn’t able to have a social life because of his uncanny condition. Also, he was a man of integrity. He was a rare specimen of the male species; a gentleman._

_The immortal could hear the two guards chatting away like they were two friends out for a smoke and a pint at the pub. Sighing, Henry headed to the large steel vault containing most of the city’s money. As he walked down a long hallway he heard something out of place. The loud conversation between the guards halted abruptly with two loud whacks. Henry hurried his pace to the ‘rec room’, not thinking of the harsh consequences to come._

_As he peeked his head around the entrance he saw three men in all black, unmasking themselves, pistols in hand. Henry just put himself in the middle of an armed robbery! Why did he always get himself into sticky and highly deadly situations? Right…his curse was responsible._

_Wide-eyed and hands in the air, he shot a look at both bodyguards; they were unconscious but not dead. A wash of relief ran through him. At least these were not murderous robbers. He hoped their guns were a precaution and only ready to use if they entered into deep waters. He could only hope…_

_Henry stood still whilst the three buff men held him at gun point, their facial expressions surprised and oddly worried. Finally they started arguing between them, leaving Henry sweating profusely since he didn’t want to get shot, die and disappear in front of them. Remember, that was his strongest phobia, being found out._

_"Bloody...Urg! You should have known someone else was in the building!" The man who seemed to be in charge yelled at the two other men. “Great! Now he has seen our faces! You twits, why did I even bring you along?” He grunted, eyes fixed on Henry, contemplating what to do with their uninvited hostage._

_“Sorry boss, what do we do?” The tallest of the lot asked, with an American accent._

_“We can knock him out and shove him with the other pansies.” The last bloke offered, speaking in a strong cockney accent._

_“Or not. He’s seen our faces, he’ll go to the police and describe each and every one of us. I say we put him in a condition where he won’t be able to speak again.” The head robber said, smirking devilishly. However, his accomplices weren’t as supportive of his murderous idea._

_“You mean shoot him…dead? I don’t know man, killing someone is the death penalty or prison for life if lucky.” The American stuttered, blinking rapidly whilst rubbing his sweaty palms together._

_“Yeah, I’m with the patriot.” The other said, nodding, also getting nervous._

_"You bunch of sissies! Besides I wasn't going to shoot him, too much mess to clean up afterwards. Why don't we just lock him up in the large safe we have come to rob of its beautiful delicacies?" He glared at Henry, eyeing him leisurely, not a care in the world._

_Both men looked confused and Henry picked up on that, so he decided to be a smart-ass. "I see you both are strong men, but not really all up there." Henry tapped on his noggin, continuing. "I figure you are confused since you don't know how locking me up in a room could kill me. Let me enlighten you on that matter. It is air tight, so I would eventually run out of air and be refrained from breathing, which always ends with death. Rather painful and heart wrenching to be honest."_

_“Is he actually being smug at a time like this? Even if he is about to die?” The American exclaimed, laughing and finding Henry amusing to listen to._

_“There’s no point screaming and crying is there? So I am trying to act my normal English self.” Henry shrugged, already used to death by now, still with his hands up in the air. He was actually kind of relieved. He would die alone…with no witnesses._

_“You, stay with the hostage while we empty the safe, then we’ll shove him in there.” The boss commanded, talking to the cockney speaking bloke._

_“Why can’t Ronald do it?” He whined. “The American should be the babysitter, it fits him better.”_

_“Shut up and do what I say!”_

_Zipping his mouth shut, the man gulped, obeying and keeping his gun pointed at Henry whilst the other two headed to the vault._

_After what seemed an eternity for Henry, the thieving duo came back with many full duffle bags hanging off both their shoulders. The immortal let out a large exhale, knowing another limitless life would be taken away from him…once again. Asphyxiation, why couldn’t he just be shot instead? He would have preferred that much more than dying slowly from a lack of oxygen._

_Five minutes later the large steel door had shut and Henry was alone, in the pitch black, inside an empty vault. If it was anybody else they would have been panicking right now, trying to save themselves from such an unfortunate death. But not Henry, he just sat and waited for death to come in the room. Which would finally tie the murderous knot. Henry was absolutely not afraid of staring death in the face._

_After sixty minutes the air started to thin out, but Henry breathed normally, not trying to conserve the little oxygen he had left. Fifteen minutes later his lungs started to burn extensively, making the man know that his demise was near. The pain he was feeling poisoned his whole body, making him fall on the cold cement floor. His body gave out, unconsciousness overcame him and the rest followed._

_His entire life flashed before him like a home movie and as life breathed into him, he awoke surrounded by fresh water. He was back as his naked reborn self, swimming adrift in the Thames as twilight enveloped the slowly industrialising city. He was alive once again and now had a terrible annoyance of banks. When he found some clothes, he was quitting. Banks were just too dangerous._

_** *End flashback* Present, New York City, National Bank ** _

_“Hello sir? Sir!” The voice was unknown, but surely present as Henry felt a hand touch his shoulder._

_“Hmm?” He blinked, snapping out of his trance of memories past. A guard stood behind him, looking rather annoyed. “May I help you?” Henry asked politely, not comprehending the situation._

_“Sir, you are blocking the customer line. I would ask you to leave or move along in an orderly fashion.” The tall female said in a stern raspy voice._

_“My apologies, I was…preoccupied, admiring the wonderful building you work in.” Henry responded ruefully along with his British charm._

_“Sir…it’s only a bank. Not much to look at.” The woman replied with a confused odd tone, finding the man in front of her quite strange._

_“Henry!” Detective Martinez’s voice echoed and Henry turned to see his partner standing a few feet away. He gave her small hand gesture, indicating that he was coming._

_“I must go, have a nice day.” The Englishman ended, heading in Jo’s direction._

_“What were you doing? You were having one of your flashbacks again weren’t you?” Jo smiled, finding it amusing, but also quite interested. “When was it this time? Nineteenth century? Eighteenth century?” She continued, folding her arms and cocking her head to one side._

_“September of 1900. I used to work in a bank, not many good memories. Died actually, or rather murdered. Shame I can’t go to the police but a murdered victim still alive is impossible in the eyes of the law or even humanity.” The medical examiner answered, making a point._

_“True…but as you said the past is the past and right now we have a man to interrogate, if you aren’t too busy? Jo asked as sarcasm dripped out._

_“Of course not. May I ask where he is because I’m sure you already know?”_

_“He’s in his office. The one that has his name inscribed on it.” She pointed at a brown door that was situated next to a narrow employee-only corridor. Jo knocked on the door. “Mr. Rymes this is the NYPD. We need to ask you a few questions.” Silence… “Hello? Open up, it’s about the death of Allison Dale.” Silence ended when the duo heard a pair of footsteps moving further away from them as well as a door slamming shut. The idiot was fleeing, running away from the police. Terrible move on his part._

_“Oh come on! Why do they always have to run?” Jo pounded down the door with her foot and ran after the escapee murder suspect who had fled out of the back door. Henry tried to keep up with Jo and the alleged assailant but had to stop and catch his breath after a few short minutes of running. For a two hundred and so year old man, he was out of shape. Maybe the gym was in order instead of being cooped up in his so-called ‘Bat Cave’ or ‘Death Lab’._

_Jo―on the other hand―kept on moving in on her target, who was trying to get away by pushing trash cans over to slow his trailer down, but was failing._

Running down an empty back ally, Jo saw Duncan trying to climb over a locked fence, having a bit of trouble. This was her chance. She sprinted and shoved the suspect down onto the paved road strongly, making the man cry out in pain. Taking out her handcuffs attached to her belt, she turned the apprehended man onto his stomach and handcuffed his hands together. "Duncan Rymes. You are under arrest for the suspected murder of Allison Dale and also for fleeing a police officer." She explained whilst the man fidgeted with his restraints as she kept pinning him down. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you, you have the right to one phone call. Do you understand these rights as they have been stated to you?" She asked.

"Yes I understand! But I did not kill Allison!" Duncan pleaded, trying to lift his head up to look the detective in the eyes.

She pushed his head back down. "Save it for the interrogation room." Jo snapped, she then looked up to see Henry standing there, out of breath. "Glad to see you have finally arrived."

"All in the nick of time." Henry huffed, placing his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

...

***One hour time skip*** **Interrogation Room**

**“I’m innocent!” A loud voice resonated throughout the small room.**

**“You ran away Mr. Rymes, which makes you look guiltier, not to mention that you had an affair with Mrs. Dale a couple of years ago and had a close relationship with her when you were both children. May I go on?”**

**“You are right I did have an affair, but we broke it off mutually. And yes I did run, but I was scared and knew I was going to be suspected of Allison’s death. I being here has already placed a dampener on keeping my job.”**

**“How thoughtful. How did you know she died? Also, your reason for fleeing was dreadfully foolish.” Jo stated sighing.**

**“I know…I knew she was dead from the newspaper, they publish anything and everything.” He explained, looking at his cuffed hands on the table. “But I didn’t kill her, why would I?” He asked, furrowing his blonde brows.**

**“Maybe you bumped into her once again which resurfaced some feelings for her. Then you asked her to leave her husband for you, but she refused, wanting to stay allegiant to him. Then you got mad and came to her house on Sunday and poisoned her out of anguish and anger.” Jo said, explaining her plausible story.**

**“No! I haven’t seen her since the mutual breakup.” He emphasized the word mutual to make a point.**

**“I see you haven’t asked for a lawyer.” Jo commented, sitting directly in front of him.**

**“That’s because I am not guilty and there is no evidence or reasonable motive to prove your theory.” He said calmly whilst his anger stayed on the inside.**

**“Have you ever bought any cyanide Mr. Rymes?” Jo continued, ignoring the suspect’s not guilty speech.**

**“What? Of course not! That’s absurd!” He declared, anger starting to bubble out.**

**“So if we get a warrant to search your house we won’t find any?” Jo crossed her arms below her bust, raising her left eyebrow slowly.**

**“Exactly! You can search all you want, but you’ll not find anything!” He yelled getting edgy toward the investigator.**

**“Where were you on Sunday between nine and eleven PM?”** Jo continued, she couldn't figure out if this man was telling the truth or not.

"Aha! I have a solid alibi! I was at a family reunion on that day, left around midnight. Unless you think I paid over fifty people to vouch for me, I couldn't have killed her!" A smug smile formed on the blonde's face, but then a frown soon followed. He was mourning for the loss of Allison; he must have cared for her in some compassionate way and it still showed on his visage. He was a man in mourning and Henry―who was once again behind the police glass―saw it along with Jo. They both knew his alibi was going to work out since he didn't kill Allison...but then...who did?

...

After another hour of interrogating, Jo had learned how the adulteress couple got together six years ago.

Duncan Rymes had explained it like this...

"I was walking into my usual café in the morning right before work to buy a coffee, like I always do, and I accidently pour my beverage onto a lady sitting on one of the tables alone. As I look up to apologise I instantly recognise her and something sparks…in both of us. At first, we met a few times a week at the café before work, but then it became lunch, then dinner…and well…you can figure out the rest. It had been going on for six months and we knew one day that we would be found out. So, because I didn’t want to ruin my status as bank manager and she didn’t want to be shunned for having an affair and her husband finding out, we decided to break off the engagement permanently and go our separate ways. It was hard for me at first, but I got used to not seeing her anymore soon enough. We never saw each other again, and now never will.”

“It boggles me. I can’t place it, but I know there’s something missing we haven’t discovered yet that will crack this case wide open.” Henry told his partner as they stood in the precinct’s hallway.

“Why don’t you enlighten me and propose to me what we should do next?” Jo said, knowing how Henry’s intuition skills were always right; so she went with the Englishman’s ludicrous and strange prepositions.

“I think we should look around the victim’s house ourselves. I think forensics have perhaps overlooked something.” He said, walking down the hallway to the exit.

“Come on Henry, they always look everywhere and in every nook and cranny. Where would we look?” Jo asked, flinging her hands to the side.

“Well, we’ll figure that out once we’re there.” The old immortal answered with his typical charming smile.

Before they could leave, Hanson ran up to the duo, stopping them to give them some information. “Duncan’s alibi is real and also that fiancée guy, but it was hard to put a time stamp since some people might have thought he saw him or it could have been someone just looking like Mr. Adamms. However overall his alibi is solid enough, kind of.” Hanson told the couple, carrying a bunch of folders with him. “Where are you heading off to anyway?” He asked, half wanting to go with them, but had too much paperwork to do. He was already a few hours behind since he helped the inseparable sleuthing couple with their cyanide case. Maybe next time.

“Going back to the crime scene. Watson over here thinks the expert forensics team didn’t find everything.” Jo responded, pointing to Henry who stood next to her. “And thanks for the info. I’ll text you if we find anything.” She added, walking away.

“Watson? I think myself more of a Sherlock, or possibly a Moriarty.” The M.E whispered to his partner, being half-serious.

“No you’re Watson. The man who follows the inspector around, giving sound advice and who has a medical degree. I think that character suits you more than the villain or the private detective with a tobacco and drug problem―or might I say―addiction.” Jo contradicted Henry, proving her point to the fullest.

“Sherlock Holmes fanatic, are we?” Henry stifled a laugh, observing how much Jo was into the conversation.

“Shut up!” She said, shoving him playfully, not able to contain the smile already growing on her face. He could always make her smile, something she admired about him. “And let’s go.”

…

Jo cut the yellow police tape sealed on the door, entering inside the house. She looked around, it felt different than when she first stepped into it. Now all she felt was death. “Let’s look around. Henry, you take the right side of the house and I’ll take the left. Call if you find anything out of place.” She then left, starting with the master bedroom, hoping to find something in there.

Henry started in the kitchen, rummaging through the drawers and any place he could find whilst Jo did the same. After two long hours of searching, it seemed both parties started to lose any hope of finding something crucial to the investigation. Maybe Henry was wrong.

“I don’t think there’s anything useful in here, we’ve looked everywhere twice. I think we should head back.” Jo said, sighing and walking towards the front door.

“Come on Jo, I’m sure there is something here.” Henry didn’t seem to want to stop.

“The only thing that’s here are dust bunnies and creaking floor boards, especially in the living room.” She glanced at the small living room, rolling her eyes.

“Lighten up Jo you―did you say overly creaking flood boards? Tell me exactly where.” He pushed her into the salon.

“I think it was over here.” She stepped and it made a loud creaking noise.

Pushing his partner aside, Henry crouched down to all fours, fiddling with one of the loose wooden panels. Suddenly―to Henry’s delight―the plank popped off, revealing a small hole. Putting his hand, the man searched for an item or something that might be hidden inside. Luckily his hand felt something dusty and alone.

“What did you find?” Jo bent down, intrigue washing over her.

Henry pulled the object out of its hiding place and it exposed a small brown diary. “I think it was Allison’s. Perhaps whatever she wrote inside was why she was killed. Maybe the reason is because she knew something that she wasn’t supposed to. We did it Jo, we’ve got all of the victim’s memories stored in a little book.” This really was going to crack the case wide open, but will it be a large enough crack to solve the mystery once and for all?

**_Unknown:_ ** _When you're tangled up in confusion, there's a good chance you're busy unraveling the truth._

Chapter 13 

Unravelling the Truth 

It was hidden well from whoever it was kept from, but not well enough for the infamous immortal to discover it with the help of his partner. Staying on the cool wooden floor, they broke the small lock and opened the diary, revealing its white pages full of secrets and thoughts. They sifted through it together, reading all of the victim's thoughts from the past year, trying to find any detail of who her killer might be. It was quite difficult since she never put the people's real names. It was probably to keep her secrets to herself, just in case anyone―like them for instance―read her private book of memories. Many of the pages stretched on from weeks to months, blabbing on about gossip, everyday activities, and 'women' problems. For instance, complaining about PMS, her weight, or the wrinkles she did not have. It was clear to see the woman was a worrier on the inside, not that she would have shown it to anyone. The diary didn't indicate any best friends at work or anywhere else. Everyone loved her, but she wasn't one to make friends, only friendly acquaintances. Her life seemed lonely, but how she wrote, it didn't seem she felt that way. She actually appeared rather happy. Henry felt his heart throb for a second, why did all the happy people have to be murdered? Couldn't murderers kill other murderers? If only life was that simple.

They had finally arrived at the week before her awfully poisonous demise. That's when her life started to get rocky. The certain point in time when they figured that one event changed her life, for the worst.

***I can't believe what I saw, I don't want to believe it, but I simply cannot forget about it and go on with my life. I am going to talk to him, it's a disgrace to cheat with another woman. I thought he was gentle, kind and trustworthy, but I guess not. How dare he lie to those he loves the most? I will not let him continue parading around like this. Every time I see him, I do not dare look at him in the eyes. He doesn't know that I know yet, so best be on guard. Tonight I will go and tell him, I am not letting him get away with anything, even though there will be many consequences and not only for me.***

Jo then read the entry right after, which was also the last entry before her death. It was like reading her farewell note, just that Allison did not know when she wrote it.

***I told him I knew and he didn't seem at all mad or nervous as I had first thought. Maybe I was lucky. He actually thanked me and told me that he was doing something wrong and was going to stop his philandering. I didn't want to believe him at first, but he sounded so sincere. We're going to talk about it again, like he asked, after he has finished working downtown. I am happy that this dilemma has turned out nicely and no problems have arisen out of it. ***

The duo looked at each other, mouths agape. They finally found the motive, but whose was it?

"I see we have found the culprit, but it's such a bad motive. Killing because Allison knew of an affair." Jo pointed out, standing up. "I'm going to call Hanson." She pulled out her phone, holding it to her ear. "Hey, it's Martinez, we found the culprit it's…"

…

Hanson knocked on the door, pounding since it took long to open up. "This is the police open up!"

"Calm down! I'm coming!" A grouchy voice echoed from within the house, footsteps getting louder. The door flung open and a man with bags under his eyes and a bathrobe opened up. "What?"

Hanson kept a serious face, looking the man right in the eyes. "Anthony Dale, you are under arrest for the murder of your wife, Allison Dale. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you, you have the right to one phone call, which I dare to say will not help." The handcuffs were on and Anthony was in a fit.

"HOW DARE YOU ARREST ME? I DID NOT KILL MY WIFE. I LOVED HER! YOU MORONS CAN'T EVEN DO YOUR JOBS PROPERLLY AND FIND MY WIFE'S TRUE KILLER!" He yelled at the top of his lungs.

Hanson just smirked as he shoved the man into his police car. "Now what you have just said can be used against you."

…

They were once again in the interrogation room, sitting face to face in eerie silence. "You killed her, and the motive seems to talk for itself. Also, you had ample amount of time to kill her, and then meet up with your friend after. All we need is a confession, or do we need to go and waste our time to find some proof?"

"I am not guilty. Woman, I do not know why you think I did it. Why would I?" The man banged his fist down, almost making a dent in the table.

As the detective and her interrogate battled it out, Henry watched, but something was bugging him. Something was disturbing him, like everything was wrong. Jo was sure they had the killer, but Henry wasn't too sure about that. He didn't want to tell Jo that she wasn't doing her job right, so he decided to do some searching on his own…First he needed to read Allison's diary again, he was positive they had read it incorrectly and declared the wrong person having the affair. Allison wasn't talking about her husband, she was talking about another man.

He sat at Jo's desk, opening Allison's diary which he took without asking, but he still did not call his actions stealing. He re-read the last two paragraphs, trying to find a clue on the true killer. He then saw it, one word that changed everything. He instantly switched the computer on, doing a back-ground check on someone. He never liked computers, but he made an exception.

After searching for answers to connect with his questions, he had cracked the case. He knew who killed Allison Dale and had the perfect plan to catch the murderer along with a key piece of evidence.

After Jo stepped out of the room with a worn expression, she immediately saw Henry and let out a loud sigh, looking defeated. "What plan do you have in mind?"

"What do you mean? I haven't said anything yet." Henry asked innocently.

"I know that look. It's the look you make when you are about to close one of my cases. You know who the killer is don't you?" Jo huffed comically, crossing her arms.

'You caught me." He put his hands up in surrender. "But, I need your help." He asked.

"Will I regret it afterwards? Because most of your genius ideas never go as planned." The homicide detective pointed out.

"Sincerely not. This plan of mine is very safe indeed…the only thing I need is a warrant. Got any of those lying around? Actually I might need two, and we don't have really any evidence to ask for one. So, I'm leaving it all up to you." He patted her back. "Call me when you have them." He started to leave, Jo yelling after him.

"Aren't you going to tell me anything? I have a right to know. It is my case." She grunted, leaning heavily on the side of her desk.

"All in due time. Anyway detective…don't you find the suspense exhilarating? Besides, I want to be completely sure. Of course, I probably am." He straightened his scarf, donning a prideful leer.

"Fine. Leave me alone then, I have to figure out a way to receive two warrants. I will need to know where. You do know that." She commented, sitting down at her work station. "I guess I will not get the chance to feel the exhilarating sensation of suspense after all." She grimaced with sarcasm dripping out of her mouth.

"Indeed. You are right." He took a small sheet of paper out of his inner coat pocket. "Voila." He handed it to her, she glanced at it with surprise.

"Really? He's the killer?" She asked skeptically, laying the piece of paper on her desk. "Alright. I'll contact you when I have received the warrants. You better be right." Jo said sternly.

"Don't worry friend, you won't regret listening to me." He told her with assuredness.

"Oh, and Henry."

"Yes?"

"Don't wonder off and get yourself into trouble. I don't want to go meet you by the port. Nor bailing you out of jail for unruly nudity and bathing in the Hudson River…again." Martinez sternly obliged, rather than requested.

"I'll be quiet as a mouse." Henry promised, index finger hovering millimetres from his purposely pursed lips. "Won't move from Abe's Antiques. My son will see to it personally."

The detective let out a stifled groan, contemplating whether keeping her eyes off him would be the soundest choice. She let her eyes close for a second, pinching the edge of her nose for a sense of revelation. "Fine. If I find out you got into trouble or died. I will shoot you. Understand? I can't do what I have to do if you start meddling with things by yourself. Now go. Before I change my mind. I still have no clue how I'm supposed to get these warrants." She mumbled, more to herself. "This might take all night…"

Knowing he was not needed or wanted, Henry snuck away, taking a taxi home. As his foot entered the automobile his heart tightened, releasing a strong, but not lasting, feeling of acute anxiety. He did not want to be victim to Adam's taxi services a third time. Once had already been enough. Twice was barely sufferable for an immortal like himself. A third time would just push him off the psychological edge of madness. If not more than he was already.

Glancing at the front mirror by the driver's seat, a Jamaican visage was seen. The cabby was definitely not Henry’s extended lifetime enemy. Unless he found a way to change his face. He assumed this matter was not the case. This yellow car belonged to a long bony Jamaican working to earn a balanced living. The blood to his heart pumped slower, his heart rate diminishing. His slight panic attack was over. He readjusted his scarf for a sense of comfort and the man's courage had returned.

Paying the fee, he exited the vehicle, sending the cab off with a pat on its sleek roof. The waiting period had commenced. He hated not being able to help, but getting warrants were not in his jurisdiction. Jo was also probably more convincing than he when she wanted to. He had faith that she would come out on top with two warrants in hand. When life gave her lemons…lemonade was always the result. She was able to do anything she put her mind to and he respected her for that. More than he thought.

A jingle was heard throughout the store, an hour before closing at seven and the owner turned his head from the morning paper that was settled flat-out on the counter next to the cash register. A welcoming smile donning the man's wizened face. "Oh, it's just you Henry."

"Now Abe. Not happy to see old dad?" Henry asked, acting offended by putting a hand to his chest in utter (fake) disbelief.

"No…I mean yes. I'm just surprised. Aren't you working on a case? Poison was it?"

"Cyanide." Henry responded.

"Yes, yes now I remember. You just usually come home later when you're smack bang in the middle of a murder investigation. Already ate, but there are leftovers in the fridge if you're hungry." He sat back down on the stool he was resting upon, pushing up his reading glasses with the tips of his fingers. Eyes flicking down to the newspaper, then back to his father. Doing two things simultaneously which usually aggravated the much older man in the room. Older than most of the antiques.

"I'll eat soon. And for me being here early, I was kicked out. I was not needed for the moment. Mostly phone calls and paperwork. Oh and I know who the killer is. I feel the urge to settle it right now but I mustn't. The Detective has spoken. I am not allowed to get into mischief or go sleuthing by myself until a warrant is received." Henry explained, placing his coat on the rack along with his scarf.

"Why is it I believe that you will do the exact opposite and get into serious trouble? Like being hit by a bus or stabbed? Death follows you like the black plague back in your day…" His voice trailed off, ending with hilarity.

Henry produced a muffled scoff. "I'm not that old Abe. You're off a couple of centuries. I have lived through many epidemics. The influenza, polio…cholera…" He refrained from speaking, his corneas starting to shine, remembering all the people he couldn't save. Catching the breath he seemed to have forgotten, he continued. "Death follows me since I have chosen to help the dead today and the sick in the past. I have come to see it as something I have put upon myself. They say we cannot control death. It still stands, except for me and my immortality. One day I will figure out how this curse can become a gift." Henry looked down, watching his hands like they contained an unimaginable power (which was half-correct). He perked up adding. "And I will show you, son. I am able to restrain myself from leaving this house. I have enough patience to last a few life times." He tried to say without any doubt, but failed. Even his own mind was second-guessing the words that were rattling his vocal chords.

"Do you want me to lock the door and hide the key?" Abe smirked, stepping out from behind the counter, pushing the wooden stool underneath.

"If you don't mind." The medical examiner answered with a certain disappointed look.

"Thought so. If that doesn't work, then I don't know what will." He said, shaking his head amusingly. *Click* Doors locked. *Click* Shop lights out. All Henry had to do was wait for one simple phone call. It was harder than it looked.

_**J.K. Rowling:** _ _I never go searching for trouble. Trouble seems to find me._

Chapter 14

Along Came Mister Trouble 

He was slowly dying inside as he knew every second wasted could mean more time for the killer to clean up his tracks. Burning some evidence, buying a plane ticket ready to fly off to another continent if needed, or even getting prepared to give in to the temptation of killing again. Time was precious in these delicate murder cases. It was of the essence.

He sat on a leather couch, next to the phone, waiting for it to ring at any second. However, the call was not coming. Much to the man's dismay. Henry fidgeted, tapping his fingers repeatedly on the sturdy back cover of a century-old anatomy book, which he was pretending to be interested in. On a few occasions he began to make a short rhythm with the front of his black polished shoes, an expression of anticipation etched on his impatient face. He had re-read the first few words over and over again, other thoughts blurring his concentration. The doctor only glared at nonsensical words, at that time unknown to him from the lack of effort. Knowing who the murderer was, but not expected to do anything about it was eating away at him and he was facing a hefty moral dilemma.

He could both take the key from inside the jade Chinese vase (Abe's supposedly secret hiding place for it) and exit the shop, hoping to find the evidence he was looking for before it was 'accidentally' destroyed or lost. But, he might get caught for illegal trespassing. On the other hand, he could listen to Jo and wait until she would get the warrants. However, they might not get them in time to find any concrete proof.

Two parts of him were battling it out; his recklessness and his cautiousness. Sadly, his cautious side had been worn down to the bone during the long years of his colorful life and recklessness became his middle name. Why would he be cautious for his safety when he couldn't die? The only times cautiousness was used in the same phrase as Henry Morgan, was when he tried to keep his secret from the prying eyes of the world. Presently, those walls slowly tumbled down now that he had told someone else the truth about himself. All that was keeping caution alive within him was directed to the protection of others. Mostly those closest to him. Which currently included his son, Abe and the newly immortal homicide detective, Jo.

"Will you stop? You are starting to make me jittery. If she hasn't called you by now, she'll probably do it tomorrow. It's already ten. What's waiting another day going to do? This case has only been open a couple of days." Abraham sat up from his seat, uncrossing his legs. He walked up to the vintage record player and lifted up the needle from the rotating jazz record. The music halted at once, a slight scratching noise was heard when the man's finger touched the needle. "Goodnight. I guess I'm leaving the light on." He felt that Henry was going to stay in that spot until the phone on the hook starting ringing.

"Hmm? Oh yes…goodnight Abraham." The immortal answered with a distracted tone, focusing all his energy on the electrical appliance beside him.

"And I thought you didn't like phones…" Abe whispered to himself, chuckling. A part of him was worried. He knew Henry was going to get into trouble sometime soon. However, he wasn't concerned for his father's safety. He was actually worried for the trouble his dad would cause for Detective Martinez. Regularly, Henry was quite a handful and Jo was always the one to clean up the mess he got himself into because of his reckless and adamant habits.

Just as Abe was out of sight, ringing echoed through the room and Henry picked it up immediately, a smile on his face. "I suppose you got them?" He asked before the person on the other end spoke a word.

"Wrong person Henry. How is Jo coping by the way, with her new lifestyle and all? Aren't you going to thank me?" A voice that had been on the earth for at least two millenniums made a shiver run across Henry's body. The voice that lead to something…or someone much more terrifying.

"You don't deserve to be thanked. What do you want Adam? Come to pry in my life again like you know everything about me?" Henry asked sternly, speaking low but with force. He did not want his son to hear any of this.

"You're wrong Henry. I know more about you than anyone else. I know how you think, act. I've been studying you for quite some time now. We're the same, you and I. Never forget that." There was a long steadfast pause, and Henry was too flooded with resentment to notice. Adam breathed heavily on the other end, like he was showing Henry he was still around to conflict more pain.

"I―am―not―like―you." Henry pronounced every word slowly for he did not want his voice to tremble.

"You shouldn't fool yourself…Anyway, I haven't called to have a chat. I came to give you precious advice, or should I call it information?" Adam questioned, amused.

"I do not want anything from you." The younger man spoke, ready to smash the phone down upon the receiver. However, Adam said two small words, halting Henry's intended following actions.

"Blue Teacup." The man whispered with a sense of superiority. "Ah…Now I have piqued your interest. Thought I wouldn't have figured it out? Henry…you should know me better than that." The caller spoke with disappointment.

Henry frowned, brows furrowing. "You are messing with evidence! Did you take it?"

"What would be the fun in telling you? You're going to have to use that brain of yours to figure this one out. The clock's ticking. Or it might be accidentally smashed. Why don't you just go down to the killer's place and see if it is still there? One more thing…the killer just received a note, telling him to get rid of a certain piece of discriminating evidence…oops now you know the truth." *Click* The phone went dead, slipping out of the poor man's hands, dangling from its electrical cord a few inches from the floor.

He needed to act fast, without any legal documents. He yearned to call Jo, but refrained from doing so. If she was caught breaking into a house illegally, it would end her career, her superiors would bump her back down to wearing a uniform, only allowed to be on patrol. If she was lucky, they would suspend her for a few months, but never be able to trust her again. Henry knew Jo's job was, in one way, her whole life. He didn't want to be the person culpable for ending it. The gentleman was definite that his partner would give him an ear-full for not calling her, telling him that he once again kept something a secret from her. That he broke his promise. Henry cared too much to call her, he would do this alone. Before creeping down the stairs and entering his hand into the Chinese vase with caution, he cursed Adam for interfering, but it was no use…Adam was cursed enough.

Abraham stool motionless behind his semi-open bedroom door, listening to his father's unforeseen phone call from the only man who could negatively impact Henry with such ease. He was such a horrid man who enjoyed puppeteering his father whenever he felt jaded. For Abe, it was unforgivable. Even more so when he dragged Jo into all of this madness.

The logical deed Abraham should have done was to step out of his sombre hiding place, giving his dad sound advice on the subject at hand: to call or not to call the detective. However, his wisdom surmounted his logic and his legs did not dare to move. It was not his place to interfere. His father had to choose the right path to take, in this two-optioned perplexing affair. So, he closed the door fully as quietly as possible. Albeit, his father would have been too distracted to hear the slightest out of place sound. He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The man grimaced out of exasperation; he would not sleep tonight.

As the son faintly heard the departure of the only other resident in the house, he switched his light on, unable to leave the matter as it stood. He dug out his cellphone and called the only other person he relied on. He just couldn't stand letting his father go alone when he had the power to do something. It went against his compassionate heart.

It rang one, twice…a third time. The woman in question answered, half-aware already of what was going to be said. She had a feeling it was something regarding Henry. Why would Abe if calling her if it was not so?

"He left the house didn't he?" She immediately asked, grumbling. She mentally kicked herself for taking an eye off him. She should have just let him stay with her. He was predictable, yet she had decided to trust him. Her confidence was meaningless and she was beginning to think so was her friendship with Henry. He once again went without her, against her better judgment. Did he see their relationship as worthless? The way he was acting seemed like it―even after everything they had been through together. Weren't real partners supposed to help each other in times of need? It was always hard for her to completely understand Henry, or actually the half of him. Even after finding out of his centuries old life.

The detective locked her anger inside. She would end this murder once and for all. Then unlock her anger and lash it out onto Henry. She was going to have a well-needed chat with him once it was all over. He broke her trust and she was irritable; that's all she was going to explain to him.

"Right on track Detective. He just left. Felt like I had no choice but to call you. I don't know where he went so―"

"That's fine, I know exactly where he is going."

Before the call abruptly ended Abe added. "Adam called right before, so don't be mad at him. He does strange things when it comes to Adam. It terrifies him more than he can admit. Plus, now that Adam did something to you…so he's a notch higher than paranoid sometimes."

Jo switched her phone off without answering, feeling quite rude. Nevertheless, she did not want to say something she would regret later for the extreme annoyance towards her partner had not subsided yet. She knew it would not to stop any time soon, so she buried herself in the cyanide case, hoping the adrenaline pumping into her veins would rather be for wanting to arrest a murderer. Jo snatched her keys from her desk, rapidly jogging towards her car. As she sped towards her destination she crossed her fingers, hoping Henry was not already in a pickled mess.

Henry picked the door's lock, aware of his surroundings just in case anyone was suspecting him of illegal entry…which was what he was committing. The gears clicked and the door opened. He entered inside, meeting with a barrel of a gun touching his forehead. He froze as the gun stayed put, he could not see the man standing on the other end of it for no lights shone through the small hallway.

Henry raised his hands slowly, showing a nervous tug of the lips. Boy he was in trouble. Why did he let himself come alone? Adam had lied to him, his 'fan' told the killer that he was coming. He was stupid...why did he listen to Adam?

"I was waiting. I'm sorry, but I can't go to jail, I just can't."

_**Tomas Hobbes:** _ _A man's conscience and his judgment is the same thing; and as the judgment, so also the conscience, may be erroneous._

Chapter 15

Final Judgment

"I was waiting. I'm sorry, but I can't go to jail, I just can't." The man's voice shook along with his hands. "Walk in front of me, but don't try to do anything stupid." The young man nudged the gun, showing his hostage that he needed to start moving.

Henry took small, leisurely strides, hands placed up in the air in an act of full surrender. "Aren't you just going to kill me and get it over with? Why wait? Unless, you are more petrified than me right now even though I am not the one holding the handgun." Henry asked, trying to prolong the time he had left alive.

"Shut up! Do not talk until I say you can or a bullet will pass through your head!" The killer spat, with a certain uneasiness. Henry knew the man was an amateur in the infamous murder business.

"You really should not be taking me hostage. It is dampening your chances of receiving less time in jail. We already know you killed Allison, so there is no chance the judge and jury would come to any verdict but that of guilty." Henry continued to walk slowly until he reached a room fitted with a dining room chair especially put there for him. The barrel of the gun poked the nape of his neck, making the hairs stand up and his breath hitch slightly. He couldn't lie; he was afraid. Doctor Morgan was able to courageously or perhaps stupidly stare death in the face, but that did not mean he was not afraid of it. He remembered when the taxi, his _voyeur_ locked him in, crashed into the Hudson River. He had clawed away at the car's left door, slashing the fabric and rubber with his bare hands and fingernails. Feeling the air dissipate from his lungs completely was undeniably scary… and irrefutably agonizing. All in all, Henry Morgan was able to tolerate death, not surpass it. It was still all too real to Henry… and painful.

"Sit!" The man ordered, placing the trigger now in front of the immortal. Backing slowly away without taking his eyes off Henry, the killer switched a lamp on. The light flickered, dimly lighting the eerie musky room. Henry inhaled the air, smelling the moldy dampness seeping out from the house's walls.

The man handcuffed Henry's hands solidly behind the chair and duct taped both feet to each front leg’s sturdy oak wood. Gun still in hands, he paced back and forth. The poor carpet was getting worn down by the soles of the panicked man's shiny black shoes. He was contemplating his next action; he was smart and he knew he could not kill his hostage…not just yet. He would not lose everything he had worked extremely hard to accomplish on his own.

"How did you know? Nothing was out of place. I had planned it perfectly." The murderer muttered eagerly, inching closer to the sitting man. "You should not have figured it out!" He kicked the chair angrily, making it fly onto the floor along with its occupant. A sharp pain flowed through Henry's head as it hit the hard floor (even with the carpet). He let out a small yet loud cry, trying to wiggle out of the restraints covertly. Before he had any inkling of a chance, the chair was returned upright steadily on its four oak legs.

"My dear killer…or may I have the pleasure of calling you by your real name…Mr. Edgar Adamms? Henry smugly asked, pain transferring from the back of the head to the frontal lobe, creating a mild migraine.

"I ask the questions..." Edgar leaned forward vehemently gritting his teeth, placing his right palm on the top rail of the seat's back, making it ease back a couple of inches. "Not you." He spat...literally as splodges of saliva splattered on Henry's scarf and cheek. "Now…HOW DID YOU FIGURE IT OUT?!"

"Apologies for raining on your parade, but the sheer act of murder disrupts the natural order of things and always leaves traces behind. Even how insignificant they might first appear to be. Science proves that the perfect murder and killer are myths. The―" He was interrupted by a frustrated yell.

"No crappy dialogues! Get to the point or this bullet will shut you up!" He lifted the barrel of the gun where it once lay parallel to his right thigh.

"A few things actually. In Allison's diary, she talked about a man she witnessed having an affair. We first thought it was the husband, but something smelled fishy so I reread the diary and one word she wrote down popped out…downtown. The victim clearly wrote that the adulterer…you Mr. Adamms…worked downtown. So how could it have been Mr. Dale when he works at a High School in the suburbs?" Henry explained, continuously trying to loosen his restraints with an acute resilience he did not possess. The Londoner was more brains than brawn. His palms and forehead were gathering up beads of perspiration; the captivity reminded him of too many awful memories. One only a few weeks back―with a certain NYPD Detective and an insane _voyeur_ with a stolen gun. "However, there was one prominent thing that was bugging me. The blue teacup or the lack of one. Allison knew her killer and let him in. She was probably very hospitable…so why did she only make tea for herself? Unless she didn't and in the midst of fleeing the property the murderer quickly swiped the cup to prevent DNA tests."

Every time Henry said the word killer, Edgar's body tensed. Before his prisoner could continue, he laughed slyly. "There's no way you could have thought there was a blue teacup missing. I could have declined the offer and she only poured a cup for herself." He replied with a bit of restlessness. Shreds of doubt entering his system. Henry was about to prove him wrong. Albeit the M.E was the one tied to the chair, it seemed he was easily making a fool out of his abductor.

"It was quite elementary Mr. Adamms. You see―for once in my life―I used the internet," he wore a pleased smile, "and found that these specific teacups come in a twin set. Of course, if one had broken previously to you murdering her, she wouldn't have brought out a mismatched set since you were one of her upper-class customers. Why would she have wanted you to look at her poorly? Plus, the only way you would have been able to poison her drink was if you had one of your own. You asked for something to add to your tea other than cream, milk or sugar. Probably cinnamon since I had smelled a faint aroma of it close to the coffee table. When she ran back clueless to the kitchen you added cyanide to her unsuspected drink and your task was done; she was already dead in your eyes." Henry finished, the handcuffs not wanting to budge.

Edgar started applauding, gun still in hand. He snickered. "I have already disposed of the piece of China. There is nothing else linking me to this murder. And I wouldn't be surprised if no one knows the truth, but you. So it will be easy to kill you." He menaced with frantic eyes filled with a burning sense of conceit.

"Don't you want to know the other things that link you to the murder?" Henry added a little too quickly, his nervousness being uncovered. The student of death’s instincts told him to try to gain more time since he was almost positive Jo was on her way to rescue him. He knew his son had been eaves dropping from behind the door and he was assured that Abe would have phoned detective Martinez right away.

"If you are trying to lie to me…"

"I assure you. I am not." The immortal pleaded truthfully. "You have such a perfect motive for her murder. I did some research on your string of nightclubs Mr. Adamms, more specifically your new one...The Vibrant Tiger. How is the business going?" Henry asked with sarcasm, the edge of his mouth curved upwards as he succumbed to a bit of pride. The killer remained silent, a nervous bothersome twitch was poisoning his left eye. As eerie quietness overcame the place, Henry pushed forward. Revealing the murderer's motive and plan himself as usual. "How does it feel? Going bankrupt and losing everything you worked hard to accomplish? You're broke and you detest this new lifestyle deprived of exotic luxuries and a practically royal status. That's why you're marrying Miss Roswell. Not because of love, but since you cannot live without money. This gluttony is what fuels you and that is why you could not let Allison live. You could not risk her finally feeling guilty about what she saw and telling your fiancée of the affair. If that would have happened Angelica―or more specifically her father―would have disowned you and thrown you out of their lives like trash. Allison was probably coming to see you about some wedding arrangement unexpectedly, then she confronted you and a few days later you came to her house and poisoned her. Also, you still have no alibi since no one can exactly vouch for you when you work in a night club. Too many distractions, you see. That is how I figured out it was you…everything just fit perfectly with you when no other suspect did. I might have been wrong…but now I know for a fact that I am impeccably right." He ended his long speech with an approving nod.

"It's true, I killed her, but what good does it do to you anyway? You'll be dead in a few seconds, I'll see to it personally." Henry paled as he knew his rambling was not going to work anymore. He was going to die, in front of a witness. As the gun was lifted to his temple for the umpteenth time that day, he shut his eyes, praying that his luck would turn around.

Jo had effortlessly found out where Henry was headed; the killer's house. She was lucky he had told her who it was because if not she would have never known the location of her partner. The detective wouldn't even have been able to track him since he did not acknowledge the usefulness of a cellphone―even in this modern era.

Jo had called for backup, but she insisted that they stay outside, ready for action if needed. It was hard to make Hanson agree with her, but she finally had her way. Her excuse was that they were probably in the middle of a hostage situation and with one person going in, it would increase the probability of getting Henry out alive. Detective Martinez didn't add that it was more because she was trying to protect Henry's secret from coming out just in case something unfortunately did happen to him.

After quietly and easily picking the door's lock, she slowly opened the front door, touching her breast pocket to make sure she hadn't forgotten the warrants she had applied for and graciously obtained. She silently shut the door behind her, sliding her gun out of her holster as it melded perfectly into her hands. She could hear voices in the vicinity, a few steps along the hallway. At the end, she could see the shadows of two people etched across the wall in front of her as she hid behind the opposite wall right next to the doorway, ready for the strike.

"NYPD! DROP THE GUN OR I DROP YOU!" A loud commanding voice appeared from the doorway, gun held firmly in her hands. She saw the look of surprise on Edgar Adamm's face as well as Henry's relieved yet appreciative look.

The man's hand trembled ferociously―but alas for Henry―he stuck the barrel of the gun against his forehead, shaking his head furiously, not intending to listen to the detective's command. "Step away! Or…or I'll shoot!" Edgar shouted with heavy uncertainly, nudging the hand gun deeper into his victim's skin.

"Gently put the gun down Mr. Adamms, this is not helping. Nothing good will come from this if you pull that trigger. There are three police cars outside, you cannot escape. If you kill him Edgar it will only prove to us and yourself that you are certainly a cold blooded killer. You don't want that do you?" Jo firmly held her ground, keeping her stare upon her target, talking with a smooth yet faintly authoritative tone.

The assailant looked confused and shattered, his corneas bloodshot and full of regret. His eyes slowly lowered to the ground, his body following as his knees limply hit the wooden floor along with his arms trailing behind. The gun fell out of the killer's hands with a clunk, laying alone next to the whimpering man. "I didn't want to kill her…but she left me no choice. I didn't want to lose my chance of marrying Angelica. Her money would have done wonders for my business…" He cupped his face into his hands for a couple of seconds before rubbing it in frustration. "I…was so…close. Almost perfect…" His voice cracked and all the emotions he was feeling were clearly visible only by looking at his face.

Jo slowly sauntered towards the broken young man, gently using her foot to slide the hand gun further away from the culprit as possible. She then took her handcuffs and placed them on the crouching fellow. "Stand up. You're under arrest for the murder of Allison Dale and attempted murder of Henry Morgan. Come on, there's a squad car with your name on it." She regarded the malefactor with a pitiful glare for an instant, starting to lug him away from the house.

"Jo? Care to untie me?" Henry asked in a jovial manner, but halted when he observed his savior's expression; anger and sadness all wrapped up in a layer of disappointment. He zipped his mouth shut, his smile immediately erased from his face as a manifestation of guilt spread across it instead.

"Free yourself, you've lost my trust and broke our promise." Her voice was as arid as the Sahara desert. Shoving the convicted felon hard towards the exit, she turned her back at him without one last glance.

**_John Piper:_ ** _Redemption is not perfection. The redeemed must realize their imperfections._

Chapter 16

Last Chance for Redemption 

It had been a week; one whole infinite week of no contact. Not even a phone call nor a homicide case with the infamous Josephine Martinez. She was still mad―more specifically hurt―and the prolonged silent treatment was making Henry go odder than he already was. The cyanide case was solved and closed, leaving Henry with a load of stale corpses all to himself. He stood next to the examining table, alone in the room, not counting the dead (they shouldn't really count yet Henry strangely saw the possibility of letting them for the time being). Amidst the dead for nearly half a day, he told himself that he wasn't really bored―only in the presence of many intriguing puzzles. Enigmas which he would have to piece together...alone. All the staff had left since their shifts were finished, but not the top medical examiner. He decided to stay because there was nothing exciting to do back at his residency. Sure, there was Abe, but he was already too accustomed to having Jo around during tea time. It just made him substantially miss her more and additionally feel heart wrenching guilt for hurting one of the people closest to him. Although he stubbornly did not want to admit it, he was a grown man sulking and burying himself into his perished work.

The past week he had certainly tried to get through to Jo to apologize. At first, he started to call her, but she screened his calls and had not picked up once. After two days, he decided to go see her at the precinct a few―or a dozen of―times. However, every time he showed up she was 'supposedly' out on a coffee break. It did not help the doctor’s conundrum when it seemed Hanson was also giving Henry the cold shoulder for the detective knew their medical examiner had hurt Martinez some way or another (albeit Hanson’s temper soon faded in a couple of days).

Three days of going to the precinct wasn't working, so he finally went to Jo's house. Alas, she did not open the couple (or hundreds) of times he had knocked the last two days of the seemingly never-ending week. Discouraged, he stopped trying, giving her time to sort things out and cool down. She would come to him when she was ready to talk...right? Who was he kidding? This was one mess he could not solve with years of medical experience. Jo was not a suspect in a case he could deduce easily from a stain on a shirt or a cut on a hand, yet it seemed the man was still trying to read why she would not talk to him. Well, he knew...but everything he did was for the greater good, he thought. The immortal man did it all for his cohort. To protect her from losing her job (otherwise demoted). The M.E was acting quite dim-witted for a highly capable person since he was not understanding that perhaps Jo did not concur with his _'greater good'_ reasoning. Veritably, Henry needed to comprehend that what he did represented to Jo a lack of trust on his part. Also, he had done what he thought was best for his partner, not what really was.

Placing a completed autopsy chart upon a stack of others on his desk, Henry sighed, thinking of Jo for the umpteenth time that day. The shame and self-reproach that had been accumulating in Henry's mind and heart the past week was threatening to overflow and the Englishman did not know what to do. He fully knew now that he was in the wrong. He had promised himself and Jo that he would keep his promises; no more secrets, we work together as a team in whatever case we do together, we help each other to accomplish the tasks at hand and _we do not go running off_. Henry sat behind his desk, forehead touching its flat surface. He breathed oxygen in with his nose and exhaled a puff of carbon dioxide out from his mouth slowly, meditating on his countless thoughts. He had stupidly lost the trust and friendship of the person he cared for most, and was presently not trying to fix it. He groaned, feeling lower than a crumpled leaf on the ground. The Henry Morgan, Chief Medical Examiner for one of the world’s well-known ‘slightly chilled corpse deposit’, was depressed and for once in his life, did not know what to do or where to start. As most men would say: woman are perplexing beings from Venus.

Taking his antique watch out of his pocket, Henry lifted his stiff neck, glancing at its two hands; 7:36. Knowing full well that it was time to head home, he stood up slowly, fetching his coat and scarf that laid limply over the office's coat rack.

As he stepped out into the fresh breeze, he decided to walk home, seeing it as his daily exercise. Just before Henry could cross the busy street, he heard a nearby voice calling out his name. “Mr…I mean Dr. Morgan?” A hand settled upon the M.E’s left shoulder, making him face the man. It was Duncan Rymes, the man who had the affair a few years back with the late Allison Dale.

“Mr. Rymes…it’s a pleasure to meet you under much better circumstances than the first time.” Henry greeted with a high-class civil demeanor and a hint of confusion for why he was here.

“You mean when I got body slammed by a hot Latina Detective and was arrested under suspicion of killing my childhood friend?” Duncan raised an eyebrow, smirk etched across his visage.

“Right, it had taken me a while to catch up.” Henry smiled, liking the man’s amusing and sarcastic personality. One he did not see when he was in the interrogation room. It made sense; most people act differently than usual whilst they are suspected for a crime they did not commit. “Is there anything I can do for you?” He asked.

“Well…I came to thank you…for clearing my name and finding the true killer. It feels somewhat good, knowing that he’s behind bars.” The man rubbed the back of his neck, looking everywhere but into Henry’s eyes uncomfortably. It seemed he was a guy who had publically said only a constricted amount of ‘thank yous’ in his life.

“No need to thank me. Tell me if I am being too forward but…you loved Allison very much didn’t you? More than just a mere marital fling?” The Englishman asked, his tone soft and compassionate.

"Why would you think that?" The man asked, crossing his arms defensively.

“Why would you have come all the way here if you did not care for her? Also, you are a terrible liar." Henry concluded, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Duncan bowed his head, shoulders slouching. He sighed. “She was my everything…” He mumbled gloomily, continuing. “You know…she was going leave her husband and marry me a few years back when we were having the affair.” He professed dolefully, looking like a man with a shattered heart.

“Did you not say that both of you broke up on even terms?” The medical examiner inquired, raising his eyebrows.

“It was all my fault. I acted like such a bastard!” Mr. Rymes gritted his teeth, face flushing scarlet. Seconds later, his tempestuous attitude settled down. “She was ready to leave him and everything, but at the last minute I turned her down. I had just gotten a promotion at the bank and I knew if our adulteress relationship ever got out into the open, I would have been fired. I broke things off with her just because of work. I can’t believe I was so stupid! She was the only woman I ever loved and I threw her away like something mundane.” He tried to compose himself, pushing away all his penitence. “But enough of that. What’s done is done and there is nothing I can do anymore.”

“Why didn’t you try to get her back? I can see how much shame you feel. Forgiveness is not only asked for; it can likewise be given.” Henry asked, curious.

“I was blind, fooling myself that she was better off without me and that made me give up on her all too easily. All I can say now is I hope no one else makes the same mistake as I did, because one day it will be too late and the regret _never_ goes away.” The man tightened his lips solemnly, his eyes grave. “It was nice meeting you again…thank you…again.” He gave a curt nod and turned around, sauntering into the night like a man with no future.

Standing idly in the lonely street―after those weighty words―something sparked in Henry’s heart and he could not neutralise it. A rush of adrenaline pushed his legs to run in a certain direction, to a certain building where a certain woman resided. Sill not able to stop thinking about Duncan’s mistake, he ran, closing on to where he wanted… _needed_ to reach.

Upon arrival, he didn’t waste any time to think. He just rang the doorbell, pleading for Jo to open up. “Come on Jo! We need to talk…I know you are there. I can see your shadow behind the curtains! I’m sorry, I’m truly utterly dismally sorry…please have it in your heart to forgive me. _*silence*_ I’ve been an arse and broke your trust. I thought I was protecting you, but all I was doing was pushing you further away…and I’m wholly sorry for that and everything else. It is all my fault. I am to blame. _*silence*_ I’ll be sitting on your step until you agree to talk. I have an eternally amount of time to wait. Some call it forever.” The immortal sat, stubbornly crossing his arms, getting comfy.

After a couple of minutes, he heard the sound of a bolt unlatch and a door creak open. Turning around towards the entrance, hope started to pour into his soul once again. Standing, he stared at the woman holding onto the entrance’s door frame, donning a tousled pony tail and a pair of black flannel pyjamas. She opened the door further, indirectly showing him to enter. “You have five minutes.” Her voice was severe, but exhibiting a hint of uneasiness accompanied with a meticulous glare.

She strode in front of him without caring to turn her head in his direction. She went and made herself comfortable on a lazy boy in her cozy living room, an icy aura purposely emanating from her. At that moment, it seemed she was regressing back into an adolescent―at least her behaviour was.

Henry sat on the double seated couch in front of her, only being separated by a petite glass table. He fidgeted, never fully calming down. He tapped his foot rhythmically and kept fiddling with his pocket watch, feeling the smooth edges with his thumb and index finger as he turned it about in his left hand.

“I do not want to lose you Jo. I know the deeds that I have done to lose your trust and I will never stop apologizing to you, but as I said before―”

“Henry…I don’t know…how can we maintain a balanced partnership and friendship if I never know if or when you’ll be going off by yourself? As you well know, I do not need protecting. Even less so now.” She frowned, tucking her legs under herself.

“I admit it. I am unpredictable when in the middle of a homicide case and I tend to go off by myself, not thinking of the general consequences. I know there are many things I need to work on, but a man cannot change his mannerisms over-night. For over two centuries I have been mostly alone and after Abigail…I started to lose my way even more. Trying to fill the empty gap by plotting revenge against her killer. However, I met you and slowly, you set me back on track and I will never be able to repay you enough for saving me from myself. I have not come here today to promise that I will always be predictable and cautious, but to ask if you can accept me for the way I am…with all these immense and sometimes irksome flaws. Just understand one thing, I will try my very best to change for the better. So that _we,_ ” Henry’s hand gestured from his direction to hers, “can work. I am not going to give up on you.” He concluded the well-needed edict with a nervous sigh, keeping his eyes transfixed on the bewildered woman opposing him.

“You could have just said so at the beginning of the week. It would have been much easier.” Jo chuckled with a jocular yet tremulous voice as she slid her hand through her hair, making it fall loose, for she pulled off the elastic. “Although…I might have been a little...or basically, too hard on you…and I’m sorry for that. I was just hurt. Please don’t try to change for me, you’re perfect the way you are…just try to learn from the mistakes that usually upset people the most.” She broke into a small smile. She stood up and sat next to her companion, slowly taking his hand in hers. “I’m happy you didn’t give up on me.”

“All is forgiven?” The Englishman had to ask so that his assumption was palpable.

“Of course…”

The room's aura suddenly turned tense as they sat there holding hands. They were at a crossroad between friendship and love. One step into the latter and their lives would irrevocably transform into a much more permanent relationship. Friends can be lost after time, but a soulmate stays with his or her partner for a myriad amount of years. It was quite shocking to Henry when it was not he, but Jo who decided to jump into the tremulous rapids of—one could call— love and a relationship by committing a spur-of-the-moment ardent act.

She kissed him without a shred of qualm or regret. She simply took her partner's face into one palm (she did not want to let go his hand) and kissed him full on the lips. It was not a small light peck nor a long kiss full of raging hormones, but a kiss laden with easy to deduce amorous feelings. After a couple of seconds, she broke apart, holding on to the hand in her grasp a little harder. She chortled merrily at Henry's bewildered face until it merely twisted into an expression of part relief and part joy.

“I felt it was right thing to do…after all the drama we have succumbed to this month alone. Let’s see… we got kidnapped, I got shot and was revived in the river, we had to solve a murder…and you got held hostage…again.” She smirked lightly at the man beside her―who was slowly coming back to his acute senses.

“That,” he seemed pensive on the words he should use, “was…perfect timing.” He said with gaiety.

“Well,” her voice seemed to lower, “it seemed like you were asking for it after rather strongly articulating the word _us_.” She replied, face inching closer.

“I did, didn’t I?” Henry realized, too busy at watching Jo slowly tilting closer to him than to laugh or simply crack a smile. Before anything else could happen he asked, “So is this a relationship, what we are starting now? I just need to make sure th―” He was stalled by Jo purposely pecking his lips for him to shut up. Actions do speak louder than words, she thought.

“Of course, I don’t just do this with anyone.” The detective scoffed, finding Henry’s uncertainty and subtle naivety amusing for the time being.

This time he took the initiative, pushing her into a kiss he had desired on numerous occasions beforehand. He sent all the emotions he felt for this woman into one smooch and he knew she was reciprocating with as much intensity as previously. To Jo’s annoyance, Henry pulled away once more, this time they were touching forehead to forehead. “…You’re sure you want this. I am a difficult man to be with. I have been told this on many occasions. Sometimes it even dares to venture out of my own son’s mouth. Not to mention trying to maintain an irrevocable and immortal relationship could become quite maddening for both you and I.” The detective could see that Henry’s lack of confidence towards himself was becoming quite potent indeed.

“Doctor Henry Morgan.” She dictated adamantly. “I love _you_ and no one else from the time I met you to now. I would have not kissed you if I did not know what I was getting into. I am not choosing you because we now have a curse in common. I love you because you are Henry Morgan, the man who has been by my side and aiding me throughout the days. _That_ is the only reason.” She stuck her index finger into his chest, mentally and physically waking him up from the doubtful thoughts that adored to implant themselves into his head.

“One half of me is yours, the other half yours, mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, and so all yours.” Henry quoted Shakespeare as he tucked a strand of dangling hair behind one of her ears. Henry’s eyes glimmering with gratitude and tenderness and Jo’s with flattery. With any other man she would have found it tacky, but with Henry it seemed to fit. Perhaps it was the accent or his gentlemanly manners.

She muffled a giggle. “Was that your way of telling me ‘I love you’ or is that just the ancient way of saying it?” Jo teased, biting her lower lip.

“Absolutely.” He answered wittily, butterflying kisses upon her nose, cheek, forehead, lips.

“Say it again…but the normal _contemporary_ way.” It seemed more demanding than requesting, but Henry did not mind.

He pressed the edge of his mouth to the rim of her ear, three clear words forming such an eloquently beautiful phrase that not only impacted the mind and heart, but the deepest part on one’s self; the soul. “I. Love. You.”

Jo’s eyes crinkled with overwhelming ecstasy; a feeling she had not felt since her husband died.

Henry felt his heart fill up until it felt complete and ready to overflow; a feeling he had not felt since Abigail.

Love is a precious thing full of difficulty and hardships, but at the end of it all…it is worth having since being loved and loving someone gives a sense of importance and meaning to life.

As time goes forth for the newly formed couple, difficulties will ensue, but one thing shall remain steadfast; their enduring love…and possibly murder to keep it interesting…

Who knows? It’s such a long story to tell.

**_THE END_ **

 


End file.
